Intersextion
by AlternateShadesofBlue
Summary: Harvey's been different since the night they held hands. Donna's worried she's reading too much into his signals until a night approaches the line she set a long time ago. Story starts off as a T but progresses to M.
1. Chapter 1

**Updated A/N: This story starts off rated T, but will progress to M as the story unfolds. Edited 10-2-2017 to switch tenses and fix a couple mistakes. Set after Jessica leaves and the hand holding. In this, Mike has taken the job as consultant.**

* * *

Harvey's pinky finger rests on the conference-room table, just an inch from hers. If one of them shifts in the slightest- turning to talk with Louis, Mike, Rachel, or Gretchen seated around them, they'll brush digits. Could pinky-promise with the smallest of movements.

 _Does Rachel notice how unusually close Harvey is sitting to her? It's weird, right?_ Even his knee is precariously close to hers under the glass table.

This meeting should've been occupying her brain with much more serious matters. The state of the firm, and their futures are at stake. But Donna is often distracted by details of those around her. They make up a piece of a bigger picture. And if she has the details arranged just right, she usually comes to a conclusion no one else considers.

Her ability to only focus on Harvey today is disconcerting. This financial overseer Jessica hired as her parting requirement has all of them on edge, and there are plenty of issues besides Harvey that need her special kind of focus.

She sucks in a breath and forces her attention elsewhere. Rachel's ankle keeps shifting nervously to the side. She does that when she's feeling insecure about her abilities. Mike steadies her ankle under the table with his foot. He's trying to reassure her but it doesn't work since Rachel moves to smoothing out her hair. Louis pulls on the lapel his suit jacket, just about the area he keeps his Dictaphone. He's on the ready to record this meeting. And Gretchen…

Harvey's foot bumps into hers. She glances over to him, and she thinks she sees his lip turn up the tiniest bit. _Was that on purpose?_ Harvey isn't taking this seriously. He must not give a shit about what this overseer is about to say. But more than that, he's intentionally _touching_ her. Approaching their invisible line.

Donna used to go out for drinks with this guy named Lamar many years before. He was a well-known dog trainer whose entire wardrobe consisted of gym wear. The man could talk to a prissy little dog with the highest pitch voice and get those bitches to roll over on their backs. His words, not hers.

He had this word he used that always stuck with her. Inter _sex_ tion.

No, he didn't mispronounce inter _sec_ tion. He really called it inter _sex_ tion.

He used it to describe when two people had parallel lives, avoiding the thought of doing it, until they couldn't avoid it anymore and they fucked. Lamar probably brought it up so much in hopes that _they_ would _intersext_ , but she never went down that path. Too many pups in the man's bed, literally and figuratively.

Why she still thinks about it to this day was obvious. Because that intersextion he'd been talking about fits her and Harvey that night he'd come to her apartment years before. And they've been avoiding meeting at that point that crossed the line ever since.

Every now and again they approach the connection point again, and one of them quickly shifts and goes back, taking a turn down an opposite road, or distracting each other until one or the other pass. Silly metaphor, right? Except for its accuracy.

Like the hand holding the other night. Where he actually didn't turn back, but he didn't move anywhere either. She's stuck, waiting for who will play chicken and pull away first. This time she was the one, using pouring them more scotch as an excuse, when in reality, her stomach was in such knots she only nursed the drink before contemplating finding a plant to dump it in.

Harvey's reaction was as usual, non-reactive. He hadn't brought it up, and they'd gone back to no touching. His hand suddenly shifts, the inch erased, and she catches his side glance before the charge makes her pull her hand away.

* * *

Shadows flicker in the low light as Harvey slams a file on his desk. "Godammit."

"What is it, Harvey?" Donna asks.

"This client list is bullshit. I'm happy Jessica decided to find herself, but in the meantime, she left us with a sinking ship."

"That wasn't what she was trying to do-"

Harvey cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "I know. But that doesn't change the fact that if I don't find a way to get more money coming in, she won't be the only one leaving here searching for a new future."

Her boss, who also happens to be her pet project for the last thirteen years, sits at his desk, stiff and still. Tight shoulders held together by a ten-thousand dollar suit. He isn't much different of a picture than he ever is, but she can see the extra wrinkle in his forehead, the little bit of extra pink under his skin from the heat radiating from the inside. The way his straight posture looks slightly more of an effort, as if he's holding the company on his shoulders himself, as he basically is.

She takes a seat in front of his desk. "We'll just stay here tonight until we've gone through every new client possibility."

His gaze raises from his desk, falling on her. "You don't have to do that. You should go home, call Maxwell, and I'll figure it out."

She forgives his annoying intentional flub because of a twinge of guilt. "It's Mitchell, but you knew that Harvey."

A hint of a smirk tells her she's right.

She bites her lip, hesitating before adding, "And besides, we broke up. I'm free as long as you need me tonight."

His attention darts back to her from the computer. "When did this happen?"

"A few weeks ago."

His mouth sets in a thin line. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs. "You were busy with Mike, and…" The rest of the words hang between them, approaching the dangerous corner she'd avoided turning on for more than a decade.

"You were seeing each other a long time."

"We were." She doesn't offer more, because they don't talk about her love-life in more than brief recaps.

He's still staring. Probably considering a way to shift from the intimate. "Did he hurt you?"

Still moving forward. She waves her hand. "No. Walking away hurts. But I'm fine."

He tilts his head. "You should've told me. You don't have to go through a break-up alone."

Hadn't they always done that before? Well, _she_ did. And he just thought he did, with her adjusting strings behind the curtain as needed. "Well... I didn't."

"Oh." He nods. "Rachel."

A trickle of guilt burns somewhere in her gut. "Well, I told her, yes." She looks away. "And I talked to Louis." Told Louis. She should've said told. It sounds less committed.

His jaw ticks in the slightest of ways, then he nods.

He's hurt. Or jealous?

There's that corner they avoid approaching again, and this time they've come closer to it than usual. She needs to turn back again. Or at least down a different one.

"You know, you don't divulge details about your sex life."

"I don't need to. You already know before I tell you. You're Donna, remember?"

"Yeah, well lately you've become sneakier or something, because I've barely come up with any of your latest action."

A smirk and a quick nod says he's amused at her admission. "Maybe you're losing your touch."

She looks him dead in the eyes. "I _never_ lose my touch."

"Well in this case you did. Because if you'd been on your game, you'd have known I've been cutting back." He leans back into his chair.

"Harvey Specter cutting back. Maybe _you're_ off your game."

He squints his eyes, lips pursed as he shakes his head. "I'm never off my game."

"Maybe you're finally growing up."

"Is not banging hot women what other people call grown up? I call it focusing on getting Mike out of prison."

"Maybe you've been having a hard time finding people that want you." She falls back, unsuccessfully fighting back a grin so big it made her face hurt.

He leans towards her with a look of arrogance that for some ridiculous reason, makes it hard to imagine how she could ever leave his desk again.

"Someone wanting me isn't the problem."

 _D_ _ammit Donna. Don't look at his lips. Don't do it._ Her eyelids flicker, but she manages to remain composed, minus the race her heart is running as he looks at her with mischief.

 _The corner._ She hadn't even started moving toward it, had she? _Dammit._ No matter how hard she tries to stay away from the corner of Specter/Paulsen, no wait -if they're going there- Paulsen/Specter, she keeps finding herself dumped right back at their intersection.

As usual, one of them turns back before it gets too deep. He clears his throat and goes back into high profile clients, rich clients, and desperate for representation clients, and she flashes the list she tucked into her bag earlier at the ready to surprise him with. Then she reveals the gossip she's researched from some of their secretaries. A woman always comes prepared.

* * *

He pours them another drink after they solidify their updated client list they'll begin courting first thing in the morning.

He passes her the glass, and she eyes the liquid knowing her number for the night is approaching dangerous territory. "You don't think we're passing the point of regret?"

He grins. "What? Where we start dancing in the halls, pissing in Louis's office, and confessing to each other how horny we are from being alone?"

She chokes on the liquid, making it burn twice as much as she swallows it down. "I'm fast approaching forty, Harvey. I don't need to be alone to feel..." Her hand flies to cover her lips.

His fall open as he eyes her curiously. He looks away, appearing to decide better of it. "You need to find someone to help with that."

She laughs. "Yeah, how am I supposed to do that when I'm stuck here with you until ungodly hours of the night."

He empties his glass, silence enveloping even the darkest corners for how long it stretches. "I sometimes think about it. But your rule-"

 _Abort._ "Don't."

"We're both adults Donna; we both work a lot-"

 _Crash and burn. Into each other._ " _Definitely_ don't." She stands, taking steps to put space between them.

"You never think about it?"

"You're drunk."

"Yes, but I've been thinking about it sober too." He stands. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"What are you, proposing I give you more benefits than I already do?"

"Did you forget how beneficial I can be?" His brow jumps, the corners of his mouth stretching.

His audacity has her shaking her head, but at the same time the words to dismantle his claim can't form on her lips. He'd been _helpful_ in ways she hadn't fallen upon in the same way since. _Bastard._

Harvey looks down, a slight pout on his lips. "So that's a no."

She shakes her head for actually feeling a tinge of guilt, but also for the deepest part of her trickling into a flourishing interest. "That's a- this is a horrible idea."

"Forever?" He asks candidly.

Her fists ball at her sides. Forever is too permanent to promise. The foolish side of her, the side that seems determined to force her into a continuing cycle of feelings that shift to regret, want her to jump. _Him._ "I can't say that."

"Then the answer can wait until tomorrow. And if you want to drop it then don't say anything more. If you don't, I think we should talk about what that means."

The fact that he doesn't look away unnerves her further. This isn't something he came up with drunk. Like the first time, crossing too far into boundaries with your boss is a horrible plan. Crossing boundaries with who they'd become could damage them beyond recovery.

* * *

 **This may push Harvey a bit OOC. I will try a scene to explain this continues. This may go to an M at some point, but I'll give fair warning. Anyway, let me know what you think, good or bad. Thanks for reading! _I own nothing._**


	2. Chapter 2

_Four days earlier…_

 _Harvey ends the call on his phone, the air coming into his lungs thickly as he stares at his screen. She's gone. Life changed in an instant._ Poor bastard.

 _His eyes flicker to the empty desk that sits thirty feet outside, then scrolls through his photos to land on his forty-something-year old friend Craig, happy with his fiery redheaded fiance by his side at a Harvard mixer from a few months before. Done. Over. In finality._

" _You look like you just saw Freddie Kruger," Mike says as he appears._

 _Harvey frowns and curses how the kid seems to be able to appear with less warning than the old days. He ignores the comment so he doesn't have to elaborate. "If you're not here with good news, you can walk right back out again."_

" _Then I should just go home now because Trigon Inc. just refused the settlement Katrina offered." Mike sinks into the cushions of Harvey's sofa, smacking a file next to him._

 _Harvey sets his jaw and bolts up, swinging his head Mike's way. "Goddammit. You weren't supposed to let her take no for an answer."_

 _Mike's palms go up at his sides in protest. "I didn't. Nothing she said worked. They want the case to go to court."_

 _Harvey stalks towards him. "Then they've got something, and you two didn't do your job well enough to find it."_

 _Mike narrows his eyes, looking Harvey over. "What's going on with you? You're an extra degree of dick lately."_

 _Harvey sucks in a breath, attempting to even himself. Death of little more than a colleague's redheaded fiance affecting him didn't seem like an answer he could explain. Not without tapping deeper into his head-space than he dared venture. He went with a more comfortable answer. "Besides everyone not doing their fucking jobs correctly?"_

 _Mike seems to take the hint because he doesn't respond. Except for him still staring at Harvey in a way that's reminiscent of the redhead currently absent from her desk. Mike stands, maneuvering around the furniture and shoving hands in his pockets. "I know me going to prison was hard on you. Maybe you need a vacation. Or take Donna out somewhere fun. Go see your brother. Get laid if that's what it takes."_

" _I'm fine." Harvey waves his hand in dismissal._

" _I don't think you are." Mike takes a step closer, looking down before leveling with Harvey, his lips pressed in a firm line. "Everyone's been noticing your temper lately. Since Jessica left, you're on edge. The last time you ended up this way... I'm worried you'll need therapy again."_

 _Harvey grits his teeth, punching down the inkling there's truth behind the words with a shake of his head. He's okay. He's got the firm, his clients, and everyone here, most importantly Donna._

 _He catches glimpse of her, bending over the side of her desk to reach for a pen, causing wrinkles to form at the sides of her extra tight gray dress. The way the silk blend conforms to her hips, inching up to show her toned thighs sends a current up his spine._

 _He wonders if she's still seeing that guy. It's been a long time, and she never mentions him anymore. He likes to think it's because he's so inconsequential he doesn't merit a discussion._

 _Something switched for them the night Jessica left. They'd kept their relationship in platonic boxes labeled:_

 _Boss_

 _Secretary_

 _Trusted Friend_

 _Symbiotic Team_

 _The labels kept them in accordance of her rule, and left their relationship safe, without chance of blurred lines and wounded feelings. Or at least they were intended to keep them within those boundaries._

 _But close relationships, especially ones built on early attraction can be complicated states, and keeping their status quo hadn't been as straight lined as they'd attempted, especially since his declaration of loving her a couple years before._

 _Since she's returned to his desk, he's been struggling to find interest in his usual outlets. No late nights with easy conquests. No drinks with various run-ins as a side benefit of being senior partner of a prestigious firm. None of them can erase thoughts of her. None can make him forget he wishes she was the one he spends his nights with._

 _She's stacking various papers on her desk, leaning over to click something on her computer screen, her meticulous attention to detail appealing. Along with the slight shadow he can see plunge into the neckline of her dress. A charged signal shoots down low. She looks up and catches him staring, arching an eyebrow as her face falls in an omniscient smile._

" _Oh shit," Mike says._

 _Harvey realizes too late Mike's still there and for once in his life, uncharacteristically silent. He blinks, darting his eyes to his former associate. "What?"_

" _Something happened, didn't it?"_

 _Harvey widens his eyes, steeling his expression a mock feign of dumbness that's really in hopes of making Mike uncomfortable with taking this conversation further._

" _You'll have to be a little more specific," Harvey answers dryly._

" _Bullshit. You know I mean Donna."_

 _Harvey sets his jaw. He's had about enough of Mike's insight for the day. "If you're about to go where I think you're going, get back to work. On second thought, get back to work anyway and figure out what Trigon Inc. has."_

 _Mike eyes roll again, as he makes a few feet of distance as if he senses he's towing a line. Close to the door he adds, "You may be able to fool the rest, but not me."_

" _Mike..." he warns as he checks her desk to make sure she isn't sitting with her intercom into a conversation he can't let her hear right now._

" _Nevermind, it doesn't matter."_

" _No, it doesn't," Harvey answers quietly, a sadness invading his chest making him eager to get the subject switched._

" _Because you're too chicken shit to go through with anything."_

" _Excuse me?" He throws out the warning, but curses how his voice lacks its usual bravado._

" _You and I both know you think about it. Hell, I bet everyone here does, including her. You just don't have the balls to be happy."_

" _I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're more than out of line, Mike."_

 _Mike shrugs. "Maybe I am. But I just spent the last few months in prison, away from the woman I love. Knowing what I know now? I sure as hell wouldn't throw away a chance at happiness."_

 _He_ _i_ _sn't throwing it away, not really. Risking losing her here to have her there had never been a wise gamble. She'_ _s_ _had her rule,_ _and_ _she'_ _s_ _never_ _been willing to_ _fully answer when he tried to broach the subject. And he'_ _s_ _been satisfied enough with the way things_ _a_ _re,_ _basically_ _. He'_ _s_ _always thought if the right timing presented itself, maybe everything could be on the table._

 _After Mike leaves he switches his phone back on again, looking at his friend's photo, and glancing up to Donna. A visual reminder punches him in the gut. Time didn't have guarantees._

* * *

 _Present…_

Harvey wakes with a hangover tinted fiery red and aimed at his head. He swallows back the bile taste in his throat, ignoring the turn in his stomach when he downs two glasses of water and a painkiller. Soon all that remains from the night before are thoughts of her, laced with the wonder if the day will bring fulfillment or regret.

He picks out a gray and blue Gucci tie Donna always adjusts because the silk doesn't behave, and makes sure to use the Grey Vetiver cologne that caused her to moan when she leaned in close and got a whiff before poorly covering and claiming it reminded her of an old boyfriend.

The pounding in his head returns when he strides up to his office and Gretchen is behind her old desk, sans Donna. The sight makes the air in his lungs grow thick, a memory of the last time they'd come close to crossing the line and the fallout he'd barely made it through invade his mental equilibrium.

He can't lose her, not now.

He fights off the panic, hoping for an obvious explanation. "Gretchen. What are you doing here? Where's Donna?"

"Louis told me I was working for you today. Something about integration of-"

He doesn't wait to hear the rest of whatever bullshit reason Gretchen was fed. He's putting an end to this quickly, his steps already pounding down the hall. Today of all days, he needs her close and he's not playing rotating secretary with Louis.

When he arrives outside Louis's office, Donna isn't there either, which means his confrontation of the man can't end with him immediately bringing her back where she belongs. Maybe with his fingers linked in hers, or brushing the small of her back as he leads her away. He tables the sensory image as he barges inside with purpose.

"Where the hell is Donna?"

Louis presses his fingers together. "We're doing company building today. Office integration brings unity and trust."

The calmness of his voice grates somewhere deep in Harvey's head. "I don't know what the hell that means, but you better get Donna back in the next two minutes, or I swear to God Louis-"

Louis stares up at him with narrowed eyes. "I don't appreciate being spoken to that way. And if you have a problem with it-" Louis shoots up from his chair, pointing down the hall "-you'll have to speak to Warren. He's the one that instructed us this morning. If you'd shown up on time you would've known that."

"He has no right to touch my secretary. We had plans today to-" He evens the strangle in his throat "-lock some clients."

"Well I wasn't thrilled to lose Gretchen either but I'm doing it for the good of the firm. And let me remind you, having an overseer was Jessica's idea. I suggest you take your Harvey sized fit to one of them."

"Oh, I will."

This is bullshit. He's got court today, and Gretchen can't just jump in as his secretary for a day. The only person he was interested in... _integrating_ with is Donna.

He storms out of Louis's office and heads straight for the office next to Jessica's. Only he soon realizes, it's empty and Jessica's office contains the short, balding man. A territorial beat drums in his chest, all aimed at the overseer making changes in places the man should stay clear of.

"What the hell did you do?" Harvey asks, with a voracity he's not bothering to tamper.

"Well, hello Mr. Specter, nice of you to finally join us," the man says, his voice pinched and cheerful in an unsettling way.

"You re-assigned my secretary?"

A relaxed smile is on his lips, his hands folded in front of his body. "I did. Just for the day. With the influx of new employees, and the short staffing, Donna is the most knowledgeable and might I say highest paid legal secretary in the firm. She's perfect to help with our integration for the new staff. I assigned Miss Bodinski to help you for the day."

He's sweating, but he's not panicking. She's _not_ leaving again. This is all on this infiltrator that Jessica pushed when she should've had the sense not to. "You have no right to do that, and you have no right to be using Jessica's office."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but the document Jessica signed says I do have that right. You can look it over if it makes you feel better." The man pours a glass of water from Jessica's old cart, seeming unaffected.

It pisses Harvey off. Warren Lester's neck is the perfect height for easy wringing, and at the moment that's the only thing that would make him feel better, besides finding Donna. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you're only here until I take over this firm."

"I agree. Which is why I have a very important job for you to do, and when you return, I promise your secretary will be returned where you like her, right outside your door." The man emphasizes with a thumb jut towards Harvey's office.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He isn't about to do something for this man. He solves cases. He closes people. He doesn't get assigned jobs.

"I have a high profile client, that needs your brand of expertise to get him out of a sticky situation. His previous firm left him high and dry and he's looking for new representation. You think you can handle it?"

Who the hell does this guy think he is? He'll handle it, and then he'll be calling Jessica to get this condescending little shit out of here. "Yes, I'm sure I'll have no problems handling whatever client you give me." He'll take the case because they need the clients, but he isn't about to lose his secretary. "And Donna better be back at my desk by the time I'm back."

The man nods but doesn't respond. Harvey centers a final glare his way and leaves.

* * *

Traffic on the way to this new client is about three times as horrendous as usual. An oil drilling protest is blocking lanes in all directions.

When he finally arrives, his meeting with the new young client, an upcoming bad boy celeb that's being sued by a large production company because of his PR, takes about two hours longer than the half an hour he's intended. Which in turn makes him late to court, meaning he still hasn't gotten to connect with Donna.

His late appearance shifts his case to the end of the stack. Normally he'd head back to the office to wait, but he isn't going to brave the craziness that's the streets again. He checks his messages, which include a text from Donna.

 **Donna:** Sorry about this morning. I wasn't about to battle for you with that little shit, who by the way, thinks he can double my workload. We should talk later.

He swallows, finally having a break of time to settle his thoughts back on their talk the night before. He wonders whether _talk_ means about the work situation, or about them. He can't get a read whether if it is the latter, if talking is to shut down the idea, or explore it. He plays it safe in his answer, but digs further.

 **Harvey:** My next order of business is barring Warren Lester from the building. What did you want to talk about?

 **Donna:** You know what. Now leave me alone. Some of us are doing extra work.

He smiles.

 **Harvey:** Okay, one thing first. Are you back on my desk?

He pictures her perched there, legs crossed with her skirt hitching up revealing an expanse of legs the perfect height for him to smooth his hands up her thighs. His jaw clenches and his pants tighten, sure his thoughts of standing between Donna's spread legs is enough to earn him inappropriate boss of the year. He'd happily accept the award for his rough fingers to get a touch of her toned yet silky skin.

 **Donna:** Are you flirting?

The corners of his eyes wrinkle with a wide smile, feeling the appreciation all over his face.

 **Harvey:** Do you want me to be?

 **Donna:** Only if you get better at it.

His lips press together as he shakes his head. He could make her crumble with a few timed words, not to mention the use of his lips.

 **Harvey:** You give me the go-ahead, I go all in.

He smirks at his double entendre.

 **Donna:** Stop it. I'll head to my desk as soon as you behave yourself.

He imagines her blushing and the strain against his pants grows, imagining where that blush travels. He obeys regardless, changing back to business.

 **Harvey:** Good. Now if I could only get out of court I'd meet you there.

 **Donna:** That bad?

 **Harvey:** It's the day from hell.

 **Donna:** You didn't have Wallace following you around all day. We can share war stories later.

 **Harvey:** Looking forward to it.

To _her._ To them. More than he's willing to tell her without more encouragement.

After waiting for two hours, the judge rejects his motion because of a stupid technicality. He leaves court frustrated, famished, and ready for a fight.

Mike calls him on the way out, telling him to meet him at Trigon Inc. because he found something.

He returns victorious after Mike figures out Trigon had knowingly put out their painkiller with double the addiction risk, hiding all the studies to save a buck. He heads to his office tired, but with one goal in mind.

Donna.

Yet when he arrives her desk is still empty. His shoulders sink. Not even Gretchen is there this time.

She isn't in his office either. He sighs, ready to fire whoever got in the way of the one thing he's been looking forward to all day.

He checks his desk for messages, immediately noticing she's arranged a light load for his schedule the next day. All his messages are handled in the way she so aptly always takes control of. He smiles, appreciating how she always anticipates his wishes. How she cares for him.

A warmth fills him, radiating into places never reached before. Thinking of her does that to him lately, breaching the boundaries they'd long ago set.

His go-to for rewarding her loyalty and trust had always been tangible things like handbags and vacations. They'd been the appropriate level of expression. The long looks seem more important now, the parts he wants to hold and not let slip away into forgotten moments. His desire to thank her isn't satisfied by platonic ways anymore. She's taken over his thoughts in and out of the office, taking over the parts of him formerly unreachable.

An envelope with his name lays at the top of the case folders.

 _Since what we need to discuss is definitely not business, I figured a more personal place might be in order. Meet me at my apartment when you're done? I'll have dinner. And a copious supply of alcohol. ~D_

He swallows back the anticipation doing an elevator rise in his chest. He needs the alcohol, he definitely needs the food, but more than anything, he needs to get to her.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading! I apologize for the slow updates. Life and my writing anxiety keep getting in the way. Thank you so much for the reviews. They're the reason I push myself to keep writing. ~K**


	3. Chapter 3

Donna doesn't want to get into a _boss with benefits_ situation with Harvey.

So she can't explain why tonight she shaves extra well, wears a matching black lace bra and panties, and changes her outfit three times over thoughts on whether they'd be easy to remove.

If she had half the resolve she has in other areas of her life, she'd create multiple roadblocks in the way of ending the evening with her legs wrapped around him. Getting in bed with Harvey Specter has always been a pleasurable daydream physically, but one that oozed complication.

Wanting him is foolish. If only the fantasies could stop being so satisfying. Unfortunately for her, previous experience isn't helping squash that reality.

She has Thai, an ample flow of wine, and about a _sixty-five_ percent certainty she's going to tell him this is a horrible idea.

There's too much history between them, and the fact she feels like she's standing in front of a freight train every time she thinks of them together seems a good indicator to jump out of the way.

Three knocks sound at the door. Familiar knocks; _his_ knocks. The trumpet sounding a hint: life will never be the same after tonight. She brushes the thought away. They'd survived much already, they'd make it through this too. As long as boundaries remained in place.

The challenge in that, she realizes as she opens the door to him there, resting against the frame with a wicked grin, is that she doesn't want them there anymore. _The boundaries_. In fact- with him standing there sans tie, a hint of golden tone that makes his skin look edible, and a slight evening shadow she'd like to feel scratching against her skin behind the lips it frames -she has suddenly forgotten why they existed in the first place.

A paper bag is in his hand, with a duffel bag resting on his shoulder. "Aren't you a sight for exhausted eyes."

"It's sore eyes, Harvey."

He shrugs. "Mine aren't either anymore. Are you going to let me in?"

She moves aside, motioning to the paper bag. "Did you not trust I'd have plenty of alcohol?"

"What, this?" He raises the paper bag. "It's not alcohol," he answers, leaving the obvious hanging.

"And the duffel? That's presumptuous. And will likely lead to disappointment."

She waits for the explanation, brow rising and head ducking down in impatience when one doesn't come.

His mouth purses as if studying the situation. "I'm not revealing that surprise yet." He starts to walk away, setting the duffel down in the entryway. "And I'm not concerned about being disappointed."

"Harvey," she warns, but she's so off her game she's not even sure what she's warning against. "You know I could find out what's in the bag if I wanted."

"You could," he states but not without a teasing doubt. "Why don't you?"

She sees his plan. Chasing him around the room, reaching around him while his taller frame holds it up high. Exertion, heaving breaths, bodies wrapped around each other. She decides to ignore the mystery item and his cockiness for the moment, not even sure she's ready to deal with the whatever he's hiding behind both.

"We should dip into that wine of yours and eat. I'm starving."

His hand lands on the small of her back while they walk to the table. It's innocent enough. He's probably even done it a few times over the years and she's dismissed the gesture. But he lingers, and Harvey getting comfortable with touching her out of the blue is unsettling.

"Before we get started, I'm not sleeping with you tonight," she blurts out, and for some reason it sounds more like she's saying it for herself than for him.

"Is that like a mantra, or?"

"You're such a dick."

He seems to enjoy the insult. "Who says I want to sleep with you?" he dares.

" _Please."_

"Why?" he challenges.

She rolls her eyes, annoyed he's ignoring the obvious. "You _know_ why. But besides that, if I'm contemplating giving up my rule, I feel like we should have guidelines in place." It's _sensible_.

"So you're contemplating," he states, ignoring the point.

"Foolishly."

He grins, his stance paused as if he's enjoying this too much while considering a response. "Are there parameters to this 'not sleeping with me' thing? Because I could make a case for various interpretations."

A warmth rises to her cheeks and she turns away to disguise it. "Strict ones. We should eat."

They sit at her dining table, working in symbiosis as they create their usual entree divide. She gets the bulk of the Som Tam, while he always wants the larger serving of Pad Thai and Moo-Sa-Te. She always has one-and-a-half of the Spring rolls, and he has three and her other half. They have the rest down to a science as well. Donna tops off their glasses with Grenache and they begin to eat.

"So Warren screwed your day up almost as much as mine?" she asks before sipping her wine.

He waves it off. "Yes and no. Mostly just ill timing. But I'll never tell him that. It was made worse because he kept me away from you."

The comment lingers, implications sparking out of it like it's a firework they're waiting to dissipate.

"What about you?" His attention is focused, as if her answer writes his next move.

"Warren's certainly persistent. It's like he's annoyed I make so much and wants to ensure I work my ass off for it. For _him_. I felt like I had five people's jobs today." She takes a bite of food. "He followed me everywhere."

"Well that's ending. Tomorrow."

"Don't do anything rash."

"He messed with my secretary," he says with a harshness she knows isn't directed at her.

She considers his anger. "And are you upset because of the action or because he did it _today_?"

"Does it matter?"

"You don't share well, especially the things you value." She sips wine. "You're like a child with toys. Not that I'm _your_ _toy_."

A devilish grin forms on his face. "Well, I did hint I wanted to play with you."

She scoffs, squirming in her chair.

His face turns serious, as if he considers something. "Donna, you know you aren't a passing interest, right?"

"You're _you_ , Harvey."

He shakes his head, his expression seeming uncomfortable with the implication. "You're _the_ interest." Soft eyes meet hers, tugging her to him in a way that makes her hate him a little.

He always manages to accost her with these carefully placed gestures, sometimes in the form of words, and she'd hang on them mortifyingly like a starved puppy desperately waiting for her inattentive owner to pat her head and toss her a bone. She doesn't even want to examine _that_ metaphor more closely.

He's still reading her in a way that makes her heart play a rapid beat, an intensity in his eyes and intention to his breaths. She doesn't know how to respond. He's laid the groundwork, a line of fresh stepping stones, but she can't visualize the path.

She shifts the topic, pausing the forward motion between them. "Now that we finished dinner, you want to show me what's in the bag?"

His lips press together in a tight line, a frustrated sigh escaping. "I was hoping we could address the obvious first."

Taking another sip of wine, she's unsettled with his sudden shift. Harvey, wanting to talk, and about _them_. It's aggravating her that suddenly she feels in the dark in regards to him. She relents. The subject is coming whether she's ready or not. "Isn't that more of a scotch conversation?"

"No arguments there."

She begins to collect their plates and glasses, like she's cleaning the past with the task to set them up for a clean start. He helps, discarding the take out containers and bags. She returns with Macallan, along with a pair of tumblers. He pours for them both, watching her closely, waiting as if looking away might cause him to miss the answer.

She takes a couple slow sips, not sure if this will provide courage or abandon. She struggles with the words before they come out. "You know you collect your interests. Cars. Albums. Wins. Promotions. Conquests."

He shakes his head. "You're not like that. I only have _on_ _e_ secretary." His lips pull up in effort and he cocks his head, relying on the charm he so easily slips in.

"Exactly. You're my _boss_ , Harvey. That's complicated enough without adding another title between us."

"Donna..." He slides his chair closer, their knees close to touching. We've been circling this for over twelve years."

Her mouth hangs open, willing all her internal protests to come spilling out, besting him with her emotional prowess while he relented in his stunted dust. The problem is she doesn't want to talk him out of it. And even if she does, with the resolve he seems to have developed, a no answer could cause the same damage she's arguing is the risk.

"Then why now?"

He's squirming now, his guarded discomfort familiarly settling back into the man she knows.

"It seems like the obvious question," she presses.

His face evens, cogs seeming to turn and then something akin to fear seems to flash. "Too much scotch last night."

She can't take him being this glib anymore. She leans back, frowning.

He grimaces, his stare landing somewhere across the room, left there as if he forgets she's waiting.

The troubled posture convinces her he's about to bail, and she lets disappointment begin to tighten her gut in prep.

"I've been realizing some things. For awhile now. I don't want to waste time."

She wants to push. It's like he's opening up to her, but shutting the box right as she takes a peek. It feels like half-in, and taking a risk this big makes her want the full. Yet she knows him. Partial steps may be the only path to full.

"What if it doesn't have to be this hard?"

"That would be helpful," she answers doubtful.

He shrugs. "We don't have to jump in. What if we just opened the possibility?" He slides the paper bag in front of her. A relaxed and barely there smile is on his face.

He then sits straighter. "Don't freak out."

She eyes him with curiosity a moment longer, not sure what to expect. It's disconcerting for him to be beyond her in regards to more between them.

She reaches into the bag, wrapping her hands around a bottle of gold-tinted liquid. Confused, she reads the label.

 _Sweet Almond Massage oil_

Her eyes go wide, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She sets the loaded item on the table. "Harvey," she warns, standing to get space from whatever the bottle implies.

He scoots his chair back and stands with her, flashing his palms to slow down her reaction. "Hear me out."

"Really?" she challenges.

"This isn't me trying anything."

"You just want to get me naked and rub oil all over me. Totally normal dynamics."

"Will you hear me out, goddammit?"

She drops her shoulders in a huff.

"We both had rotten days. And I think we're both adjusting to the idea of… being more comfortable with each other."

"The problem may be we're too comfortable."

"Not _this_ way. Not with touch."

She blinks, feeling her protests slip as something akin to thrill takes their place.

He takes a step closer, his head dipping level with her face.

She stills.

"You've been rubbing your shoulders all week," he says, his tone low as he runs hands down her arms. "Stretching your neck and arching your back. Don't think I haven't seen it."

"Oh I'm sure you have." She imagines Harvey watching, cleavage pressing against her dress. Body elongating as her hands run her skin. The image of his eyes on her does nothing to tame the tension building low in her abdomen.

"Please Donna? I want to do this for you. Nothing has to happen. If you don't want it to."

He thinks she's afraid of what _he_ will do. But the truth is much more about her fearing her own reaction. And how disastrous a wrong turn could become for them.

"You realize your generosity makes me more suspicious."

His eyes roll. "Are you really implying I do nothing for you?"

"Not without motive."

"And what motive would that be?"

She pauses, realizing the accusation is weak. "Losing me as your secretary."

"Like you'd do things for me if I didn't pay you?"

She shakes her head, their discussion veering into ridiculous. "This leads back to the other issue."

"That you think I'm a selfish asshole?"

"What if something goes wrong? What happens at work?"

"We'd figure it out."

"Forgive me for not having faith when you open up with your feelings so effectively."

She turns away then, creating steps between them as a boundary.

He ignores her line in the sand by following, circling around her. His expression is hard, like she's cut too close to the truth.

"Maybe I've been building up to it for awhile. And everything that's happened lately…" His head turns, as if saying the words is too much. He swallows, facing her again, his mouth hanging open for a moment. "Look, I brought the oil and said what I said because I want to be close to you. I, maybe foolishly, thought this might be a less threatening step. Me doing something for you that wasn't necessarily..." he shrugs, almost an uncharacteristic shyness about him. "Sexual."

She knows right then this man is going to talk her out of her clothes. For a massage tonight. But eventually she'll happily accept any part of him between her legs. _Damn him._ Damn her defective resolve.

She bites back a smile, arching a brow. "If I do this, are you expecting me topless?"

He smirks. "I'd never say no to it. But no. Cover however makes you comfortable. But change into shorts so I can get your legs and feet."

"Where were you expecting to use this massage oil?" She bites the inside of her cheek when she realizes the possible double meaning.

"Your bed? Unless that makes you too uncomfortable." There's a tease behind his voice, but his face remains even she's sure by force.

She lets go of her earlier resolve, feeling like she's about to agree to go 150 miles per hour in one of his sports cars, _sans_ _seat belt._ She steps into her bedroom with a close of the door.

"Yell for me when you're ready," he calls out from the other side.

 _When she's ready._ She's never going to be fully ready for her and Harvey. She looks around her room, contemplating the best arrangement. An old blanket works to cover her duvet, then she pulls out a pair of short pajama bottoms that match a spaghetti strapped tank that plunges in a draping fashion down her back and past her waist. She could have gone for a bra or nudity, but a bra limited access and nudity left no checkpoints before going full throttle into bed with him. She wants at least a semblance of modesty.

She crosses her arms over the thin material on her chest and pulls a deep breath. "Harvey," she calls.

He soon opens the door with caution, hands in his pockets, shuffling into the room. His gaze is kept high, never daring to dart beneath her neck.

"Are we going to address how awkward this is?" she asks.

"You'll enjoy it once I start."

She notices he has the duffel which he drops on her chair. He then begins to remove his suit coat.

"What are you doing? What's in the bag?"

"Sweats. This is a $10,000 suit. I don't want to chance getting oil on it."

She narrows her eyes. "Am I not worth $10,000 to you?" she challenges.

He cocks his head, pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you really want me to ruin your favorite suit?"

She sighs, matching the angle of his head.

He lays his upper wear neatly over the back of the chair, leaving him in a white T-shirt. She feels a breath hitch as she allows herself a glimpse of his arms and outline of his chest through the stretched material. She likes the look on him.

His hands rest on the buckle of his belt. "Now turn around."

"Are you serious?"

"You can watch if it's that important to you."

Her eyes dart down before she spins away.

She hears his belt jingle and fabric shift, then finally the snap of his waistband. "You ready?"

 _Still no_. Nothing could prepare her for this.

"If I have to be this revealed, you don't get to hide behind a T-shirt." She evens her face in a dare, sensing she's making the game more challenging for herself.

He bites a lip, then grabs the hem and removes it in a single motion.

Warmth grows on her face despite doing her best not to make her awareness of him obvious.

She lays down on her stomach, needing to stop the electric exchange between them. "Have you ever used this come-on before?" she asks boldly as she feels the bed sink beside her.

A hand presses to her side, signally her to shift more in the center.

"Just relax Donna."

Despite her objections to him telling her to, she does make the attempt to slow her breathing, letting her body sink into the mattress.

"Are you comfortable?"

She nods, hearing the bottle snap open and shut, then after a second his hands rubbing together.

"Pull back your hair for me."

She complies, and seconds later his hands slide on her upper back. She jumps from the contact, a shock of nervousness from his touch.

"Are my hands too cold?"

"No." When he returns them to her skin she molds under his confident touch. "They're perfect."

He works her neck first, kneading, working away months worth of tension. Maybe even years worth of held barriers begin to slip in layers with each pass of his fingers. As if he alone is working them out for their future. She melts under his hands' effort.

His firm but gentle touch feels too easy after so long avoiding the tactile. This should feel awkward; out of place. Not wake up the state they'd both evaded.

Long kneaded strokes work over the length of her back, reaching lower on her spine. A mild ache forms in her abdomen, a devil that lives beneath her waistband screaming lower. The counterpart in her head wants to squash the urge, but she's too molten to end his descent.

"Is this so bad?" he asks, kneading low on her waist before shifting down the bed.

Her body tenses with the loss of contact.

He has the bottle open again, then has one of her feet. It's decadent, the feeling of him servicing the part of her that's kept her upright next to his side in four inch heels for so long.

"Bad's not the word I'd use." She allows something between a moan and a sigh to escape her lips.

He grunts, almost imperceptibly, a tension rebuilding in another place as his hands work up her legs. When he gets to her thighs, there's a pause in his movements.

"Donna, I..." He sounds uncertain, almost an apology in his voice. "Just tell me if anything is too far, okay?"

"Okay," she breathes out, almost so lightly she's not sure if he could hear it. At the moment she wants him to go wherever too far is.

He plies her thigh, working from knee to top, his fingers edging to the outside and middle in care. Her breath hitches every so often when a movement surprises her, tension and desperation building low. He climbs over her legs to get to the other side, his thighs straddling her thighs briefly.

By the time he finishes her second leg, heat overflows in her middle. She has to stop him before she can't anymore. "Harvey," she warns, weaker than she intends.

He clears his throat. "Do you want me to continue to your arms?"

The question is innocuous enough, but undertones of " _do you want me to stop_ " linger under his breath.

She wonders what his fingers would feel like if they ventured higher, and she doesn't want him to stop. A spell seems to be cast over her, and she's trying hard to not fall into the fire. She's not reckless, but she wants him to wreck her and it's terrifying. She needs air, needs to slow the suffocating desire he's created between them.

Arms sound innocent. Taming. "Okay."

"Turn over."

The grit in his voice doesn't help bring her down. She complies, eager to run far away from whatever has just ignited between them.

He helps her pull the blanket higher underneath her, raising a couple pillows behind her back. When she's settled his eyes trail over her front, lingering on her chest before reaching her face with a look of want that grips her deep.

He licks his lips, darting his eyes away. He touches her shoulder, pausing before continuing his ministrations down her arm. When he reaches her hands he's more deliberate, like he's thanking every centimeter for the work they've bestowed over the years.

He begins to climb over her front to get the second arm, only this time his face is within reach of hers. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to feel his breath.

She could start or end this. Right here. But this isn't a race. "Are you going to finish?" Her mind is permanently housed in the gutter she decides when the word _finish_ creates an image.

"Yeah," he says with a resolution.

He repeats what he did on the left gently, in the end letting her arm fall back to its side but not letting her hand out of his grasp.

He shifts higher alongside her. A silent conversation beginning between their faces.

He wants something from her, but she has a hard time offering anything with the battle of satiety and want against her earlier resolve.

"I can't sleep with you tonight Harvey," she manages again.

His expression falls. "Because you don't want to?"

She huffs. "No. Trust me that's not it. I just..." There's years worth of things to say, and even more reasons to stop them. But she's stepped into the ship and it's begun to move. She can't return to shore anymore. "We made a step. I need as much of my wits about me as I can manage if we're going to do this. And if this happens now, they won't be there."

He sighs. "I can live with a step. I don't want to, but I can." He smiles, before a seriousness sets on his face.

Something about the emotion behind his expression makes her physically ache. Want she could deny. Need she could dismiss as possessive. This is those paired with an emotion, an acceptance, a worry that she's never read on him before. She can feel it mimic on her own face in a terrifying way. A realization that discovering whatever this is with all the above could break her, but the opposite will make her plunge into depths she's been running from.

"Did you want me to return the favor?" She motions to the massage oil.

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yes. But if I'm leaving tonight I don't think I could..."

She nods. Understanding because she's not sure she could either.

He leans in a fraction, letting her response become his answer. She lets herself inch forward, his hand brushing against her cheek as his lips fall into place against hers. The kiss is lingering at first, tentative as they let the years of limitations melt between them.

There's a reverence as his tongue glides along her lower lip, one she pays return devotion to as she parts to give him access meeting her tongue to his. Her fingers rest on his shoulder at first, reveling in the smooth yet firm landing that had helped hold both of them in place through every battle. She travels his chest, savoring the sinews as she moves to waist and then his back. They're not close enough she realizes, pressing her fingers into his skin to urge him forward.

Her receptiveness intensifies their kiss, his hands tangling in her hair to lead the angle to deepen their descent. She hums in his mouth, causing him to moan in appreciation. His fingers slip dangerously under the hem of her shorts.

He freezes suddenly, placing a final peck to her lips. Their foreheads rest against each other briefly before he pulls away and stands.

He gathers his suit remnants, folding the shirt and pants with detailed care then places them in his bag.

She feels a race in her chest, an instability as she watches him get ready to leave.

When he has his things situated he looks up. He frowns. "You know I'm coming back Donna."

Her lips pull together.

"You said I couldn't stay," he points out.

She nods, having trouble remembering her reasons.

He pulls the strap to his shoulder, and she pulls on a robe to follow him out.

They arrive in front of her door.

"Thank you," she says.

"For the massage?"

"For tonight."

His lips press together and before she realizes what's happening his arms are around her, one arm wrapping about her shoulders and the other at her waist. The gesture feels safe, almost like a promise, leaving a warmth growing through her that makes her wish she could beg him to stay. She doesn't want to let go, doesn't want their world to return to normal again. He pulls back, pecking her lips before he's gone.

Her bed feels twice as big that night, like there's a Harvey-sized crater that not even a pair of extra pillows can replace.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews! They for sure kept pushing me to update. I know I'm a slow writer, but it takes me awhile to get the chapters how I want them. The Fallout and Harvey's Gift are in the works, as will be Chapter 4 of this. Thanks for reading!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Donna makes a point to beat Harvey to the office the next day. The man is blindsiding her with surprises of late and she's out of willpower.

She feels as fluid as a jellyfish when she steps into the building. The massage the night before had helped, as did the two orgasms she'd allowed to be Harvey themed afterwards. She'd let the man close to places he hadn't dared venture for many years, then kept her head enough to let him leave. At least she still maintained some semblance of self-control.

He suddenly has her breaking all her silent rules, the same ones she'd assumed he'd been following.

 _-Don't mention The Other Time_

 _-Don't discuss sex unless it's implied it's with others_

 _-Don't touch unless it's brief and platonic_

 _-DON'T engage in 'getting to know themselves' with the other person in mind_

The last one she has no idea if he abides by, but if he doesn't, she has no intentions of finding out. And she's Donna, if she _really_ wants to know, she has _ways_. Ways she tries her hardest to ignore internal clues for. Some uses for intuition are just too much information.

If he happens to... slip in her thoughts while she's _already_ _engaged_ , she tries to divert the visual. It's _natural_ he's occasionally present when he's present so much in her work hours.

Under normal circumstances, the sensible side knows getting into bed with your boss is a foolish decision.

Unfortunately, the side that's approached her sexual prime deserves stellar orgasms, and knows who's the most proficient at causing them.

The old rules have lit up in flames, and she knows where she's feeling the heat. Step one for the day: A new list.

She sets her things on her desk, but before she can sit, Warren is coming her way with a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Paulsen."

"Hello, Mr. Lester. What can I help you with?" Hopefully nothing more than a clarification from the day before, or she isn't waiting for Harvey to pick the little man up and relocate him somewhere he can't reach his meddling hands to. Which wouldn't be too challenging. The man is like a miniature T-Rex.

"Is Mr. Specter in?"

His tight smile is oddly intimidating taken at first measure, but she has a layer of massage oil as a shield, applied by the man that let intimidation slide off like a torpedo on a slip-n-slide. The image of the barrier and the applier settle for a brief moment. They're naked and slick because oil doesn't apply well to business-wear. She feels rather at ease with the newfound Harvey-transferred confidence boost. Her eyes go wide and then even, applying a more appropriate shield. "He hasn't made it in yet, but I know he has a busy day." _From yesterday thanks to th_ _e_ _little man in front of her._

"I'll just need him for a quick chat when he arrives."

She has an idea of where this was going. "Mr. Lester, you promised Mr. Specter I'd be back to his service today, and I know he'll need my assistance even more than usual." He'd need her _assistance_. Mind _not_ out of the gutter, even with the twin release. _Noted._

"No worries. I always keep my promises." He juts a quick thumb down the hall. "Just send him my way when you see him."

Before she can protest further, Warren is off.

She sighs, knowing Harvey starting his day with Warren isn't going to end well.

He strides in twenty minutes later, with a self-satisfied grin on his face and an extra lightness to his feet she knows usually means he'd spent a night of something she _hadn't_ done with him. The look has been so elusive it'd been the main clue to a shift in him in the last few months. A warmth bubbles inside her at knowing she's the cause, in such a girlish way she wants to smack herself for the soft grin that's formed on her face.

He stops in front of her cubicle, leaning an elbow. "Hello, Donna. You're looking beautiful today."

"Your schedule's on your desk." She bites the inside of her cheek, barely able to contain the glee from his compliment. "And Warren asked to see you."

He traces her face. A charge of something she can't quite place with all the flapping butterflies in her stomach distracting her.

His focus dwindles, a fall in the shoulders alerting her that he isn't content with her response. "Are we ignoring what happened last night?"

"I'm tabling it because we're at _work_." She darts her eyes around, knowing they already hit the office gossip at least once a week due to desk leaning, lingering eyes, and late nights of scotch. "Which we have a lot to do." She points a pair of fingers down and swirls them in a circle before pointing to his office.

He grunts low, a frown forming on his face before he rolls his eyes and heads through his open-glass door.

Not three minutes later he's picking up his phone and her intercom lights up.

She places her receiver to her ear and locks eyes with him through the glass.

"I just need to know. Are we moving forward with this?" he demands.

"I'm still not sure what I'm agreeing too."

"Me telling you how incredible you look in that dress, for starters. The slit, the low neckline. You can admit it. You chose it for my benefit."

The black sleeveless dress with a low V she'd worn before, on one of Scottie's visits to the city. Not _necessarily_ for him. "More like your demise. Like I said, we're at work, Harvey."

He leans back in his chair. "That doesn't have to stop us. A broom closet. The file room."

"Don't you know how to tempt a girl," she teases. "Mike and Rachel's first time was in the file room, you know."

"So, scratch that idea," he says, his voice dropping.

She sets a breathy and layered tone. "You'll just have to yearn."

He sits a bit straighter, hands sliding closer on his desk. "In that case, I'm willing to ignore the Mike and Rachel thing."

"You just got here. At the job you're supposed to be in charge of? Stop harassing me and go meet with Warren. Because if he comes down here he's going to annoy me twice before I can finish my coffee." Which won't bode well for what's building right now.

"Okay, but first we need to settle something."

There's a danger tangled up in that brow-line.

"What're you wearing under that dress?"

Her face warms. She thinks of the black lace she chose that betrays her response. "You're a little overconfident."

"Impatient. It's been over twelve years. And I'm asking for access planning. But if you don't want to tell me-"

"Are you revealing your undergarments?" she dares.

"I'd rather be showing you."

She shuts down a shy laugh, shifting in her chair. "You really should've released some of this after last night."

"I did. _Twice._ But the problem seems to be arising again."

His admission hits somewhere between her belly and the fabric of the seat, their symbiosis apparently extending further than she thought.

Awareness of where they're having this conversation returns when a pair of associates pass through their focus, breaking the invisible line. She waits for them to turn the corner and their voices to fade. "Then start thinking about Warren to tame things down, and then you go to see what he wants. Because if you don't get some work done today, we're never getting off in time to make anything possible."

* * *

Harvey heads for Jessica's old office, feeling extra done with having to deal with this man in the way of the firm that's supposed to be his. Not to mention the other pressing matters at the forefront of his mind.

"Mr. Specter, glad you arrived."

"Well, you're not going to be for long, because I'm about to tell you that Donna's-"

"She's spectacular. How long has she worked for you?"

Harvey's eyes narrow the slightest, an extra shield slipping in place. "That's none of your business."

Warren seems unaffected by the warning. "I have it in her file right here." He begins thumbing through an employee record resting in front of him. On a cherrywood desk he'd somehow replaced Jessica's with.

Heat climbs Harvey's neck. "What the hell are you doing with her personnel file?"

"Well over a decade. That's impressive."

A tightness grips his throat. "Whatever you're doing, I'm telling you now that Donna-"

"I'd like to offer her a job."

Tenseness grows in every muscle, a ripple spreading from head to foot. "As a courtesy to Jessica, I'm giving you a warning. Whatever you think you're about to do, you need to back off."

The hobbit man tilts his head, his mouth in an odd open mouth smirk. "Jessica told me you were an intense one." His finger wags. "And she wasn't wrong." He stands, his hands falling to his sides, oddly relaxed with a puzzled draw of his brow. "I have to say I'm surprised though. I would've expected you to want the best for Donna. She's obviously valuable."

"I am the best for her. And before you go further, you better not continue with anything to do with poaching Donna."

The man's brow scrunches further, forming wrinkles that would challenge a basset hound's. "Poaching? You've misunderstood me. I was going to hire someone to assist me in filling positions and training for them within the firm. But after watching her yesterday, she knows the needs here better than anyone. So why give the additional salary it comes with to someone else?"

"And what about my secretarial needs?" Secretarial didn't encompass half of what she meant to him, but the term was the only one to easily tumble from his lips. "There's a lot happening-"

"I'd have Miss Bodinski concurrently handle both yours and Louis' desks over the next month or two, with help from temps, and Miss Paulsen lending her assistance where she could. She can return when the task is completed, but between you and I, she'd make a hell of a Chief Human Resources Operator. If you'd be willing to promote her after this?"

The room seemed to have expanded, filled with the entire firm and years of memories fitting inside, leaving Harvey hyper-focused on himself in his shrinking state. He reminds himself to calm his breaths, almost forgetting he's standing there with real happenings in place.

"So, if you'd just offer her the option with the promotion opportunity, letting her know about the 30% pay increase-"

"You want me to offer it?"

"I assumed you'd want to."

"What if I don't want it offered at all?" The words sound dickish as soon as they leave his mouth. And he kicks his own ass internally, knowing if Jessica was still here she'd do it for him. He's a petulant child, but someone is about to take his favorite toy away, and he's not letting go gently.

"I'm confused, Mr. Specter. Do you not want the best for the firm, and your secretary?"

This man doesn't throw down like his mentor, but he's challenging him all the same. "I'll talk to her."

"Excellent. She'd begin first thing next week.

Next week. That only left them working closely the next couple of days. And if she did take the new position? His timing for approaching more between them suddenly heightened how much they had to risk. Her taking it, meant they wouldn't be side by side. Her saying no to his proposal, or things ending badly, could mean they really would lose everything. The pounding from seconds ago takes residence in his chest.

"Now to my second order of business. That client I gave you, Luke Martin? He needs you to fly out to Las Vegas tonight to advise his Nevada team for a hearing first thing in the morning."

"I can't just leave the firm on a moments notice."

"Do you have court?"

"No, but-"

"Clients that Donna can't manage to re-schedule?"

His lips set in a firm line. He can't very well explain that he can't make-up the time he's missing in possibly his last working moments with Donna. His last moments not littered with her future growth outside of him. Time for them to flirt. To explore the newly admitted closeness between them that had always lingered, but they'd never allowed themselves to explore.

"You should be back within the next day or two, and then you can enjoy your weekend." Warren walks back to his desk and sits. "Have Donna give me word on her answer."

 _Shit._

* * *

She sees him returning from down the hall, a distraction in his focus and an edge to his steps. He passes right by her, not even acknowledging her presence. The demeanor is one she's met hundreds of times, but this time it makes her feel a pinch.

"Harvey?" she manages.

He pauses, staring into the glass to his office not five inches from his face. Finally, he turns. "Re-schedule my meeting with Bruce Barr to this afternoon, and cancel all the rest past five today and tomorrow, and fit them in next week." He turns away quickly, opening his door.

"Harvey," she says gently, coaxing a further explanation.

He turns around again and meets her with a hard look, so much swirling behind his eyes they may as well be made of glass. "I have to fly to Vegas tonight. I should be back by the weekend."

The explanation makes some of his frustration make sense, but not his distance. "Do you want to do lunch?"

His expression drains, the vestiges of his earlier mood lost sometime between when he'd arrived and talked to Warren. "Yeah, we should." His eyes meet hers, a defeat and sadness behind them.

She tries to read him. A feverish glint in his skin, eyes slightly wide with a tenseness around them, his stance not spread apart enough to be challenging, but almost too close like he overshot normal. His hair lay flatter, and his tie hung a bit looser like it was choking and he pulled on reflex. He's hiding something. Panic, worry, and recent anger. More importantly, he's hiding it _from her._ She's careful with her next words. "What happened with Warren?"

His lips part, but words seem stuck behind them like they're hanging on his bottom lip. "I'll tell you about it at lunch." His tone seems reassuring, but in that placating way that seems more about him wanting to protect her than really connecting with the truth.

Her chest falls and settles somewhere low in her gut, turmoil and confusion holding it there against her will. He'd started the day flirty and open, and now he's melancholy and back to being closed. He'll vent to her, or she anticipates confronting him at the proverbial door he's shut. Whatever this signals, an impending change has happened and they're too far over the threshold to step away without acknowledging scars.

When it's fifteen minutes to lunch, she looks up from her cubicle into his office. He's been occupied all morning, but he's back behind his desk. Busy, but quiet with trouble held under his Tom Ford suit.

She dares to step inside, nerves thrumming in her chest.

He looks up from his screen, wide-eyed, mouth forming into a mild smirk. A calm between them. "Are we leaving early?" he asks.

"I thought we might?"

A stillness passes between them, thoughts on an obvious loop in his head. Maybe this was about her unwilling response earlier? He had to know she wasn't going to open the door easily, or at least without care in regards to the best path.

They take a walk to Central Park, stopping for sandwiches at a bistro along the way.

Their steps to find a private bench are mostly silent, a hand every so often brushing her spine in an unfamiliar, yet comforting way.

They soon settle just along the side of The Pond, on a trio of benches overlooking the Gapstow Bridge. It's quiet for lunchtime, the spot all to themselves in front of the water with the sea of skyscrapers in the distance.

A silence settles between them for longer than it should with so much to say. She wonders if given the opportunity how easily he'd slip into veiled lines of boss and secretary if it meant not facing the trouble.

"Harvey, are we going to pretend something didn't happen in that meeting with Warren?"

He sighs, smoothing something on his slacks. "That depends. Are you going to pretend you still haven't said you're all-in with us yet?"

She tilts her head, wanting to keep things light. "Are we turning this into a hostage negotiation?"

He frowns briefly. "No. But maybe I should be."

"What are you talking about?"

He turns his head to her, eyes searching. "I don't want anything to affect your answer about us."

Her lips part, pulling in a breath that barely reaches her chest. "If you think whatever this is might, you need to tell me."

"And what if it affects us beyond that?"

There's a fragility in his face she's only seen in the moments he's losing her. His fears fly out from somewhere inside him and lasso her gut, trapping her in a state of wanting to unravel herself in order to protect him from whatever it is.

She starts to answer then stops, forcing herself not to give him the out for whatever he's holding back.

"Warren wants to offer you a position."

She draws her brow. "Harvey, I don't want to leave the firm."

" _In_ the firm. He wants you to assist him with new hires and training over the next few weeks."

She shakes her head, the news hitting her too quickly to fully process. "And what about your desk?"

"He said I'd be taken care of." He looks away then, toward a saxophone player in the distance. "As would you, with a pay increase and bonus."

Words seem stuck in her throat, tangled up in surprise and concern. Less so by the offer itself, but more with the spark it creates within her. A tightness forms in her stomach. She hasn't considered more professionally in years, besides the incident with Louis. Not that more had been a bad thing. She'd just had enough sense to stick with stability. Her father had fallen too many times putting dollar and prestige above balance. Over loyalty and bonds.

Contentment.

 _Harvey._ Even if this is temporary, which she's not sure if she wants, her leaving his side with the changes that'd been happening between them might set something off she wouldn't be able to control.

"You're considering it," he says with a sadness.

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Because of what's happening between us?"

"No," she answers, annoyed at the narcissism. "Because it's a challenge. It's recognition, and maybe even an opportunity _for me_ for once."

"To move on?" he asks, an edge about the question.

 _From him._ The undercurrent resting behind his words. That's all he could hear. He couldn't see her, which solidified all of her conclusions in the last twenty-four hours. "You realize you're the one reason why I wouldn't want to take it."

He's looking straight ahead, as if to make reading his external clues more challenging, then he turns to her finally, his cheeks heated from anger, or maybe something else. "Am I holding you back, Donna?"

She shakes her head, suddenly wanting to hide herself. "No. _I_ hold me back. Because I'm afraid of losing something _really_ important to me."

His smile is brief and almost not visible to anyone that isn't her. She wonders if he does that intentionally. Gives tiny pieces of himself knowing she's the only one who will notice enough to read.

"It's only a few weeks, right?" she asks, trying to return to lightness.

His eyes shift away, staring toward the water. "Right."

There's a sadness laying in front of them, one she can't fully place. Whenever his name is attached, her emotions threaten to steal her autonomy. She needs to work on that. And yet, she needs them to be okay. Be back to the place they were before this offer came in.

"Maybe if we move forward with both options- _with ground-rules_ –we can have the best of everything."

He looks at her then, a smile building on the corners of his lips. "Just so we're clear, your decision isn't about distance and your old rule?"

"No," she says with hesitance, needing to not let her wits fall into dangerous things because of his ridiculously handsome grin. "But there are going to be new rules."

"Not again with the rules." He fidgets.

"Are you wanting me all in, or not?" she challenges, a boldness building.

He narrows his eyes, watching her carefully. "I'm wanting you."

She lets her undaunted plans settle back in place. A confidence set upon her before going in for the win. "If we're going to do this, we're going to need a contract."

"A contract?" he asks with a furrowed brow.

"If this doesn't end amicably, I need insurance I won't be fired, and it won't affect my professional growth."

"Donna, I would never-"

She raises a finger between them. "I trust you to draft it, and it better be iron clad. Otherwise, trust me, I will find the lawyer that will close you."

His mouth hangs open, before a slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes shows a hidden humor. "Why do I feel like I've already been closed?"

"Oh. One final thing. We can't have sex."

He glances quickly left to right. "Are we in a Twilight Zone episode?"

"We can satisfy each other in other methods and whims," this time she raises a palm, "with the rights to object, but no intercourse."

"Why?"

"Because." She struggles for a reason that doesn't give away too much. "Traditional sex brings about messiness-" she pauses, not pleased with her word choice "-and this is just a mutually beneficial arrangement. You'll be _a tool_."

His mouth opens and closes, a pronounced smirk appearing. "Forgive me, but don't any of your other _tools_ involve penetration?"

She sits up straighter, evening her face. "You surprise me, Harvey. I figured you would be familiar that most of a woman's pleasure zone is on the outside."

He bites a lip, leaning in, his expression more dangerous with what appears to be the hint of a blush. "Trust me. I'm more than familiar how it all works. I just remember how thoroughly you enjoyed my... _tool_ that way the last time."

In spite of herself, she struggles with her careful demeanor. "Fine. That's a fair point. I'll grant a continuum."

"A- _a continuum_? About sex?"

"The contract, Harvey. In my hands before our hands are on each other."

* * *

Twenty minutes after Harvey's meeting with Bruce Barr, he slaps a manila envelope on Donna's desk and walks back into his office with a Harvey-sized annoyed glare on his face.

Inside is a perfectly drafted contract with her requests.

She bites back a smile and hits the intercom button. "Meet me in the storage room down the hall in five minutes."

She cuts the call and orders her desk, squeezing into the cramped space and pressing her back against the upside-down side of a double-stacked desk.

The door opens and he appears in the shadowed light. "Not much room to work in here," he complains as he shuts the door.

"Are you saying you can't manage?"

"You're the one who narrowed my options," he says gruffly, motioning to her as she shifts further in the room.

" _Are you saying you can't_ _ **handle it**_ _?"_ she repeats, with more emphasis.

"Oh, I can handle it. I'll just need to be more...creative."

"You have a twenty-five-minute break until your meeting with Mike over the Nethead-Weaveworks patent issue."

"The what?"

"Wig manufacturing disputes."

He does a slight roll of his eyes, and then he sucks in a breath when he finally looks at her, starting head and tracing to feet with pursed lips.

She mirrors his process, a nervousness fluttering inside so quickly she almost panics. She wants him, wants whatever they've started, and even more. But heading in all the way feels a step too far in trust, when she's not sure if she'll need to salvage herself before they risk too much. Limits feel safer, yet staring at him now feels like she's leaping off a cliff.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, reading more on her face than she intends.

"Are you?" she doubles down.

"Yes. I've got to find new ways to be impressive."

"Please. We both know you have ways. Time is ticking down, Counselor."

"Can we just...this is about more than-"

"We could skip this and eat our feelings over ice cream, if you prefer."

"I'm not going to be _eating_ ice cream."

He closes the minuscule space then. His fingers bend behind her head and pull her to his lips. They breathe each other in and he lingers there, an almost a reverence to their kiss. As if they're readying themselves for this to suddenly vanish.

"Donna," he whispers when he pulls away, like a realization, a devotion to her name on his lips.

And then his other hand scoops around and pulls her flush, his next kiss active and searching. Open mouth and tongue explore top lips and bottom. Her body is in shock from the rapid climbing need in her. First grasping lapel, then flat hands with tracing thumbs on his cheeks.

He bends, mouth not leaving hers and bumps his ass on something behind him, managing to scrunch the skirt of her dress at the sides until it's gathered over her hips. He hoists her up, shifting over until her ass lands atop a cool and solid surface. A console table? A file cabinet? She doesn't care. All she can think about is that it's the perfect height for-

He thrusts in between her thighs, his hard want hitting her center and causing her to gasp. Donna works at his belt, then clasp and zipper of his pants.

Lips find her chin, making route to her neck. He grabs a handful of fiery red strands and uses them for leverage to feast on her neck.

Her mouth falls open, panting for air with a hand cradling his head. "Oh God. Don't you dare leave marks."

His mouth slows. "Should that be an addendum to the contract?" There's humor in his tone and a smile against her neck.

"You leave a hint, it will be one."

He actually laughs now, throaty and deep before a tongue dips lower, heading for cleavage. "No worries. I've got experience at this."

She groans in spite of herself. He pulls at her dress shoulders to widen her neckline, then explores the new territory of bare flesh.

Her hands urge him to lose his suit-jacket, which he obliges with clumsy haste. She runs a hand down his shirt, bunching the tails until her fingertips meet abdomen. The muscles tense. She skims lower until she presses against him over boxer briefs and it flexes. She grasps him through the fabric and he moans, mouth stopping and forehead resting on her chest.

He raises his eyes to meet hers in the dim light. Dark. Wanting. Almost emotional as she strokes the outline of him. Shifted boundaries. Making use of their newfound land to explore. Admitted the views were something they coveted.

His stillness amuses her. "Formulating a plan?"

The onyx in his eyes makes something flutter low. "Already have one. To take care of the areas I missed in the massage last night."

His mouth crashes into hers again. Tongue taking possession of her mouth. Fingers find her waist, disengaging her hand as he slams into her clothed center again, repeating the thrusts while hands find her breasts. He cups them, massaging with ease while thumbs brush hardened nipples. She hums the charge she feels into his mouth.

His thumb continues, heightening her urge. He scoops into her bra and pulls first her right then left tits out, presenting them in her neckline at a perfect height for his continued feast. And consume he did.

Alternate flicking with thumbs and tongue, sucking with just enough pull so she feels each brush of tongue jolt her center.

Intensifying. Focused. Dizzying.

Her fingernails grazed his scalp, grasping whatever strands they can find.

When his hips press forward again, getting her closer than she's ever thought possible without direct contact, a desperate need for more and for him not to stop takes over.

"What are you doing?" she asks, crying out with his repeated hits to her aching core.

"If that's not obvious..."

She manages a glare, her head coming close to falling back.

He chuckles. "Besides hoping you'll tear up that contract?"

"I'm more concerned you're approaching that finale early with all the dry-humping."

He smirks. "I would but it's kind of inconvenient without a change of clothes." He grinds against her harder then, teeth and tongue creating a delectable rhythm.

"Har-vey." It comes out so whiny she _hates_ herself. "I need..."

"What? _This?_ " His hand slips down her stomach to her center, groaning as they make contact.

She's overly wet, she's sure through silk and lace.

A thumb slips under the edge of her panties, brushing against her clit and finding a motion.

But _not_ enough. She needs _more_. His mouth and hand continue their torture on her breasts, the rest of his exploring fingers teasing her. Slipping just to the threshold of where she wants him before retreating elsewhere.

Thighs.

Outer lips.

Tipping in center. Repeat, while his thumb leisurely continues it's work.

The wait is torment. She wants to will herself over the edge but not without feeling the full effect. Her exasperation grows sometime between swipe three and infinity. She's so close. She _needs_ it. She finally breaks.

"Please," she whispers. She never begs. She's hoping it's enough of a hint.

"You want my mouth?" he asks before going back to rolling a nipple.

"No. Yes. _Don't_ stop whatever you're doing. Just..."

"Tell me what you need, Donna."

Oh _fuck._ Fuck him and his smirky charm. She can't take it. "Your fingers." She pauses. She _really_ can't take it. She hates him. "Inside me."

He pulls away, thumbs still working both nipple and clit, watching her with a pleased expression as he plunges them inside. She cries out at the delectable intrusion.

Stretching, thrusting. Twisting as they reach new depths. He feels so good. She never wants him to stop, and yet she wants more of him all the same.

Then, he slows. And curls them forward, hitting her most sensitive and secluded spot.

She releases something between a whine and a sigh, and he wiggles around his positioning until it's... _Just_... _Right_.

Suddenly she's a slave to those fingers. They could demand she morph into a unicorn and she might just try. Every centimeter of her energy centers itself between his fingers and her building peak. Which might explain why the rest of her is a void, all thought gone when her orgasm hits. _Hard._

All that's left is the gripping spasms that take control of her hips, pulsating muscles she'd forgotten she possessed. His other hand goes to her mouth at one point, apparently to muffle noises she didn't realize were loud enough to leak. She bites a finger as the final spasm hits, coming down with him pressing kisses up her chest while her legs tremble out to a release of their own.

At some point she lost heels, she realizes.

His forehead comes to rest against hers. "Worth the wait?"

"Maybe not yet for you?"

" _That-_ was breathtaking. I'm feeling pretty damn spectacular."

"Spectacular enough you don't want reciprocation?"

He takes her hand and presses it against his overgrown bulge. "What do you think?"

"Not much room for magic." She arches a brow.

He slants his head. "Tell me about it."

"Trade places with me."

"This floor's questionable. You sure you want to muss up your dress?"

"Let me worry about my dress. I have excellent squatting skills."

He arches a brow, a devilish look on his face as he helps her down, adjusting his underwear band to exposure, and taking her place.

She stares at the newly revealed part of him long enough before realizing squatting isn't the best height choice, looking around the room and pulling down a basic chair. She wedges it in the tight space in front of his curious eyes, and kneels on it.

Then, she grips him, just enough pressure, thumb brushing over the tip. Watching his face as his eyes briefly close. Her hands and eyes testify to her memory of him. Full and perfect, a feeling of control she enjoyed commanding.

The intensity of his expression grows as she licks him. All around the head, reveling in the velvety soft skin against her tongue, with a firmness underneath. Kind of the opposite of the man she's now taking in her mouth.

His eyes close for the second time when her lips begin to engulf him.

"Fuck, Donna."

Her tongue drags the underside in her motion up, and she notices his white knuckles form on the edge of the surface.

The door behind them rattles, light pouring in on her next descent down.

" _Shit!"_ Harvey shifts hands to cover himself.

"Um, Guys?"

 _Goddamn Mike._

He quickly shuts the door, she hopes averting his eyes, or disintegrating into thin air. _Sorry, Rach._

She adjusts her breasts back in her bra, and inches all fabric back in place as she does her best to stand on the other side of the chair, her body blocking Harvey as he struggles to pull up and buckle.

She squats to grab heels, and steps into them, standing tall, setting allure and confidence on her face. She strides past Mike, straight out of the storage room.

"You know, she did this with me once," she hears Mike sheepishly admit as she's walking away.

She stifles a giggle, and hurries to grab her things to make an early exit. Her faux blowjob with Mike as a cover-up for Harold years before would be the perfect way to torture Harvey on his trip.

* * *

A/N's: So um, I had another little freakout about this chapter. It's been so long since I updated, I wasn't sure I pulled off continuing the original tone. Hopefully it lives up to whatever you expected for it. I know it went well into M-category, but also that it took me MONTHS to update, and I'm so sorry about that. Finishing this has become my new focus, so hopefully updates will come faster. I'd really appreciate any thoughts, since it seems reviews motivate me more than they probably should. Thank you SO much for your support and reviews. They mean more than I can explain. ~K


	5. Chapter 5

**_Quick Note: I think it's safe to say from the last chapter on, this ventures in M-category._**

* * *

Of all the fucking people to walk in while Donna's mouth is around his dick, it had to be the one person left in the firm who would dare give him shit about it. His entire life at the moment feels like unfinished business, and he's ready to explode over more than one of them. His brain is struggling to reconcile the merry-go-round of Donna walking away and Mike standing there dumbfounded, having alluded to Donna going down on _him_ in the past.

 _You know, she did this with me once._

Harvey shoves his shirt in his waistband. "Whatever you just said to me, I'm going to ignore it for the moment because we have the meeting." He adjusts his tie as best as he can, picking up his now slightly wrinkled suit coat and slipping his arms through. "But if you say one fucking word..." He's as put together as he can be now, with nothing to judge by in the dark room with half a hard-on remaining.

"I wasn't going to."

Harvey brushes past him, trying to avoid eye contact.

Mike follows close behind. "I mean I wouldn't want to make this situation harder for you, since you're coming with me and I know you like to blow the clients away."

Harvey stops, having a brief look around to make sure no one's close, then gives Mike a glare of death before continuing again.

"We both know you like to choke your opponent, so I wouldn't want you to go in feeling frustrated. That way you can squeeze every last drop and shove it in their faces."

"You done now?"

"I was just getting to the climax."

Harvey spins around, annoyance stacking inside like tightly bound levels of explosives. "You can continue with the blowjob jokes, if we get to discuss Rachel in them too."

"That's not funny, Harvey."

"Neither are your lame attempts at embarrassing me and Donna. What are you, fourteen years old?" Harvey looks over Mike and flips his tie toward his face. "Never mind, looking at you gives me my answer."

"That's funny considering how shitty you look right now."

Harvey freezes, thinking on a mirror and heads for the bathroom.

Mike appears right behind him.

"You interrupting my pissing now too? Maybe next time I take a shit I'll let you know."

"Woah. _No._ Dropping it."

"Like you should've done in the first place." Harvey finishes up at the urinal, heading to the sink to wash hands.

He makes adjustments to his suit, smoothing out hair that Donna had wrecked between her fingers while she moaned like his mouth was playing a personalized tune. He catches his own smirk in the mirror.

Mike's standing there watching, hands in pockets and looking sheepish. He chances meeting Harvey's eyes in the mirror. "So. You and Donna."

The words hit Harvey when he's checking for lipstick as discreetly as he can. When someone catches you with proof in your hands, you own it and make it the other person's problem. "What? We were..." Blowing off some steam? _No._ "Letting off some steam."

"You sure this isn't more?"

"You wanna watch chick flicks and eat Rocky Road, or can we get to the goddamn meeting now?"

"The meeting. I just thought with your history," Mike glances down, frowning, "it might be something else."

Harvey tenses. "Well, it's not. It's an arrangement. Like two adults do." His hands flap at his sides, leaning on his heels. "She doesn't even want more, okay?" He shoves his way out of the door, knowing he'll feel a thousand times better after closing the shit out of the opposing counsel.

* * *

The meeting ends about as effectively as his ending with Donna. Unresolved and unsettled. Which is exactly what's happening with his current trip. He ends a call with the client's Las Vegas team. They aren't going to be through with him in a day, or maybe even until after the weekend. And they want to meet with him tonight, which, while it's only after 9 pm their time, it's after midnight for him on the world's most unsatisfying day.

He's heading to gather luggage to meet his waiting car when his phone chimes.

 **Donna:** I figured by now you would've asked.

He stares at his screen, then pulls his luggage off the revolver, thumbing a quick response.

 **Harvey:** What?

 **Donna:** About what Mike and I did in the file room years ago. He's very efficient.

He frowns, the tension from earlier coming alive. He finds his driver and the man begins loading his belongings when they get to the car.

 **Harvey:** I'm blocking your number.

 **Donna:** You wouldn't believe how quickly we met each other's needs.

He slides into the car, feeling his temperature rising in spite of the vehicle's blasting a/c.

 **Harvey:** If you're just wanting to give me shit, I don't have time.

She doesn't respond at first, and he allows the provocation stir together with his other annoyances, letting them to justify biting at anything daring to come near the surface. Whatever she throws at him will feed the building piranhas of his psyche, and they're agitated to the point he's struggling to stop the attack he feels coming.

 **Donna:** Make your flight alright?

 **Harvey:** Yeah, I'm here.

 **Donna:** Something else bothering you?

 **Harvey:** I'm fine.

He knows this is the downfall because she's going to call him on it. He wants her to, not even understanding why. He needs to let whatever this is out, and she's the safest place to process. He'll feel like shit for it after, but maybe that's the only way to right the disorder inside of himself.

 **Donna:** I know you well enough to know you're not. What's going on?

One push too many; the trigger.

 **Harvey:** Besides you and Mike giving me shit while I'm trying to do my job? You fucked Mike, you didn't fuck Mike. Not my problem.

His phone is chiming with her call almost immediately. He considers letting it go to voicemail to piss her off, and maybe with what's brewing inside him he should. He picks up instead.

She barrels into him before a hello. "Look, I'm sorry if you're having a shitty day, but just because we're getting each other off, it doesn't give you the right to be a dick to me."

"You mean _you_ getting off? I wasn't involved in the final equation." He glances to his driver who hasn't taken his eyes off the still active Vegas roads, thankful he'll never see this man again.

"Harvey, you're being a giant asshole. And how that ended had nothing to do with me. If you're treating me this way just because I didn't finish blowing you-"

"You're right. I'm sorry, okay? I was out of line. I can handle loose ends."

She sighs. "Then what's wrong? Quickly before I permanently regret what we did today."

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He has to tamper this. She's the firmness he needs, and the softness he can't risk. He's already losing her behind his desk and if he loses the most important part?

He tries to settle the swarm of angry thoughts and focus. The basis of his anger? He goes for a list. She's a pro at organization.

"What's wrong is everything's not working out today. The patent issue, meeting with this other team when my body's on midnight, having to stay here longer than I thought, our interruption today, you not working on my desk, the Mike thing if that's true, and-"

"You can't possibly believe us."

"You both seemed to be randomly in cahoots about it," he challenges, feeling the tightness that's formed in his jaw.

"You're really jealous about this?"

"Donna." He lets her name settle, like a signal for her to use her intuitive games to get the answer.

"Nothing happened, Harvey. _Ever._ "

He forces an even breath. "Then what was he talking about?"

She lets out a puff of air and he can't tell whether it's annoyance or humor. "Us looking for the Coastal Motors doc and Harold walking in. I pretended we were otherwise engaged to make him uncomfortable enough to leave. I would never," she scoffs. "Rachel?"

"So I am a giant asshole."

"We both knew that already, I just didn't realize you were a little girl too." He can practically hear her sassy head tilt.

"You didn't think I was little or girlish earlier." She meets him with silence, and remorse settles in his gut. "Did I fuck things up with us?"

"I suppose if I let your aggression get to me, we would've ended years ago."

The weight of his attack floods him, suddenly heavier than the guilt has ever felt before. She's not just Donna, his secretary anymore, she's the fuel that explodes him, the absolution that gives him relief. She's his Polaris lighting him up like the Luxor's beacon they're passing hitting the sky. "I never should've said that. What we did...what happened with you-"

"An orgasm," she cuts him off. Calmly; teasingly.

"I'm trying to be open here." In a cab. With a male driver, he's sure is enjoying the entertainment.

"Continue."

"I loved being able to do that for you."

"I loved it too. But you can't-"

" _I know."_

"You know I did want to reciprocate. But it sounds like that might not be possible for a while?"

"Thanks to Warren's client. No."

The line falls silent.

"Did you bring everything you needed? Toothbrush, cufflinks, your laptop?"

"What are you…?" He pauses, sensing she's asking something he's not catching on to. "Yes."

"It's late, but call me when you get back to the hotel tomorrow?"

 _Looking forward to it._ "Goodnight, Donna."

"Goodnight, Harvey."

* * *

Donna taps her pen on her desk, catching herself in the neurotic rhythm. Mike is approaching, breaking her impossible mind loop, and she sets her expression to one of poise and impassive disinterest.

"Don-"

"Turn back around," she says, without glancing from her screen.

"What?"

"Turn back around and don't come back until yesterday is erased from your thoughts." Her eyes meet his then, leaving no room for protest.

"But I didn't-"

"It's still there in that photographic memory of yours. Return when it's not. Which I guess in your case means never."

Her coffee tastes a little sweeter on the next sip, his uncertain steps drifting back as if he's not sure how to press or run fast enough. It's fun making men who think they're grown shake in their suit pants.

"But I have to-"

She interrupts him with a finger in the air.

"Work?" he pleads.

She decides to take pity. "Fifteen seconds. Go."

"I need Harvey to sign a subpoena, but I'm not filing it until Tuesday next week. Can I leave it with you until then?"

"I'll leave a note for his interim."

"His what?"

"Did I grant you additional speaking time?"

"Uh. _No."_

She sighs and grabs the file, sets it aside, scribbling a post-it and pressing it to the top. She places it in Harvey's to-do basket for when he returns. Then, she looks up at Mike. "I'll be helping Warren with hiring and training, so I'll be away from his desk for a few weeks."

A bit more of white flashes in his eyes. "Does Harvey know about this?"

She sits a bit straighter, pulling in a breath. "He does."

"When did you find out?"

"He told me at lunch yesterday."

"Harvey?"

She nods.

His face visibly falls and he looks away.

"What?" she asks, because suddenly she's the one uneased.

"I don't think I wanna get into anything, because whatever I say you aren't going to be happy."

She sets her computer to away, pushes from her chair and steps up to Mike, grabbing him by the tie. She yanks him into the aforementioned man's office, the same one that now invades even the most private areas of her life.

She shuts the door and takes the seat behind his desk, enjoying the smell of him that permeates the space, and also the internal whiff of his power the seat provides. "Talk," she demands.

Mike's mouth hangs open as if he's lost for a second, adjusting his tie like he is the endearing rookie of the past. He seems to recover from her game, taking a seat in front and pursing his lips together. "How did he take it?"

Donna forces herself not to look away, taming her reaction. "He wasn't happy, but I appeased him with other things." She bites the inside of her cheek, almost hit with the amusement of the way this sounds herself.

The way he's obviously struggling to keep his face even almost makes her break. She seals her lips so tightly she's going to need to re-apply lipstick after this.

There's much swirling in that busy little brain of his, and she's not one to save lost boys. But he isn't the freshman of old he once was. He seems to have insights to the one place she wants access. The only key is letting him up to the door.

Except, he's busy shifting eyes and not stepping up. He and Harvey were supposed to be the closers, but whenever it came time for them to open their goddamn mouths for something other than bullshit, they freeze up like someone had their balls in their hands. She isn't one to shy away from squeezing. "Oh for god's sake. Permission to speak, Worry Man. What?"

He startles, shaking away cogs before he answers. "Why did you agree?"

 _To the arrangement with Harvey?_ No. _Warren._ "Because it was for a short time and I care about the firm."

He sets those knowing eyes on her he sometimes bests her with. That's when she remembers he's _not_ Harvey emotionally, and this is why she's allowing them to discuss this in the first place.

"Nothing more?" he asks.

"It's not on the table," she answers, pulling her head a little higher.

"Are you sure?"

"Harvey would never let that happen." And suddenly she's not even sure what they're discussing anymore.

He groans just under his breath, a slight shake of his head.

Her shoulders fall. "What, Mike?"

"From experience? You can't make decisions based on what you think Harvey wants. You have to decide for yourself. Half the time, he doesn't even know what he wants."

Fear begins to flap in her chest, like a rabid butterfly not allowing her to ignore its presence. But she can't see the frenzied insect, so how can she know what it represents? "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because whatever arrangement the two of you have going on here, something more is bothering him and until you're both honest with each other? Neither situation will end well."

She crosses her heels, leaning back in the chair that suddenly feels larger. "I appreciate you caring, but you don't know what's going on with us."

"I don't." His eyes remain calm, yet unwavering. "But I know that whatever it is? It's a lot more than whatever I walked in on."

She stares at him a moment, the words too much. She momentarily shuts them off, making space to let them rush into her when he's gone. "Okay. Thanks for the advice."

He looks a little startled by his own candor, as if waiting for her reasonable response to catch up. "You're welcome." He stands, his hands stuffing into his pockets, his feet shifting as he starts to walk back toward the door.

"And Mike?"

He turns back around.

"You breathe a word of what you saw yesterday to anyone, you will meet my hitman."

He double-takes her, eyes suddenly a similar width as they were the afternoon before while he retreats quickly. And she's left to decipher the coded words left behind.

* * *

Harvey uses the hours until Donna will be off work, taking advantage of ample high stakes poker tables, and ease in finding a double measure of Macallan Select. Both tick off his need for indulgence, knowing his third and favorite luxury will end unfulfilled until he's back in New York. He orders a final measure at the thought, cashing in his winnings and taking what he manages without an opportunity to chance all-in.

He's got a date with his half-in relationship back in his room, over cell service and unresolved tensions. First order of business is to lose the business in his wear, trading it instead for a cotton shirt and sweats. It's well after dinner and she should be settled enough but not so tired she'll hang up on him quickly. He waits out the ring until he hears the rich overlays of her tone wrapping his name out of her lips.

"Miss me?" he risks.

"I did notice your chair empty for part of the day," she says, a well-practiced disinterest in her inflection.

"Part of it?"

"A throne cannot be allowed to collect dust."

" _One_ day, Donna."

"I deserve a piece of the power once in awhile," she evens.

If only she knew how much she already _had it_. "Did I miss anything?"

He hears a quick breathiness in her _no_. "I am glad you called."

"Yeah, well, after yesterday-"

"I want to focus on the present."

Words rest in the back of his throat, his tongue not sure what syllables to form.

"Where are you?" she asks.

"Sitting on my bed in my hotel room."

"And what are you wearing?"

He chokes, switching it to a clear of his throat, searching for the right serve to toss back. "So we're going there? First, where are you?"

"Oh, sitting on my bed with my laptop in front of me, waiting for you to figure out it's time to turn on Skype."

The speed in which he reacts makes him feel a bit adolescent, but he does have the foresight to plug in the power when he transfers his laptop from nightstand to mattress in lightning speed. A computer had never loaded so slowly.

Suddenly she's taking up his screen, all grace and flare, in casual clothes with fiery tendrils atop her head, ready to combust his undoing. "Well, you don't look as relaxed as the last time I saw you there."

"Maybe we should fix that."

He swallows. "Maybe we should."

"Can you hold on a minute though? I was just about to do something and wasn't fully prepared."

"Sure," he answers, his excitement falling a mark.

Her laptop lands facing the vanity beside her closet. She moves to the furniture, pulling out items from a small wardrobe at the side. Then, she's centered in front of the mirror, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt, raising it slowly above her head.

He sucks in a breath. _Is he supposed to be watching?_ Yes is his answer, and he can't focus enough to decipher what brain area formed the response.

Pinkish lace is banded around her back, and then she bends to drop the loose pants she was wearing. The motion gives him a flash of bent over derriere encased in matching lace, like a gift in the finest wrapping around. His groin appreciates the life the image creates.

Then, she's covering up again, this time slipping into tiny and delicate fabric that fits her body closely. Shorts and a tank, satiny and pale. Her body covers the mirror the entire time, and he curses modern technology for impromptu video sex on poor hotel WiFi. Her final movement is to unpin her hair, spilling it around her shoulders.

She returns to give him a better look of the wild waves. _Mussed_ waves. Waves that mesmerize, glimpsing a dream he's had many times before with filtered morning light and scattered clothing tossed around the room. With her again focalized in front of the screen, his next attention is led by the dip in her neckline, the press together of the swell her lingerie enhances.

"Could you make your gawking any more obvious?"

"I was just thinking about another place I recently resided where you ended up fully relaxed."

If blush shows through shoddy streaming, it's blaring through now. She seems to recover with a couple passing seconds and an effort. "So we're clear, this night is about you."

He presses his mouth together, his saliva gone dry. He manages a slight nod, not sure yet what he's agreeing to with this woman that keeps managing to shift his ground.

"I do have one stipulation."

"Of course you do."

"You're not just watching me. You're doing this too. And I want to see it."

Another floodgate of heated blood rushes south. There's his nod again, words stuck behind a traffic jam of building want. His lips part, fighting away the excited grin with nervous undertones threatening to reveal too much.

She seems to mirror his struggle. "You have done this before, haven't you?" She asks with teasing candor.

"This is a little different for us."

"So start with what you want."

His breaths begin to shallow, focus on minimal oxygen only. His body had other areas to sharpen.

"Forget about me being _that_ Donna. You wanted me. Use me. Command what you want me to do and I'll comply. Within reason."

"Donna," he pleads. He's not here yet with her. He wants this. Darkly, uncontrollably.

But she's not expendable. He can't throw away whatever he forces to land onto someone else if this goes badly. This isn't a game of fulfillment. And she's treating it like one.

"You like control, Harvey. So, take it." She lets the last syllables articulate on her lips, a dare in the movement in them making it hard for him to see anything else.

His temple is throbbing, almost all pulse points on hyper alert in head, heart, and dick. It feels a bit like anger but he can't place what's propelling it. She's asking him to touch the flame, not knowing he'd be consumed by the blaze if she requested him to be.

He rests back, eyes locked onto her image. "Take that top back off. _Slowly._ "

The movement provides view to the pastel bra, something like lavender that pushes her tits up so much it almost looks painful. He rubs himself over his sweats, feeling hard enough already he could probably end this without palm to skin.

"Are your nipples hard?"

She pauses with a breath. "Yes."

"Rub them. The way you liked when I did it."

Each pause she takes before giving in makes his cock twitch.

"Are you joining me?" she asks, with a breathlessness he wants to enhance with his mouth.

It takes him a minute to process anything other than seeing thumbs brush over lace. _The shirt?_ He pulls it over his head in a motion.

Her eyes hood, her body sinking down a bit.

"The bottoms." Her name avoids his lips. He can't see her other than this version, _wanting_ , his temptress, perfectly poised to fulfill his own wants and her own.

She raises to knees, giving him ample view as they slide over hips. The lower legs are less graceful, but the tiny piece of fabric residing between her thighs polishes the ending.

"Part your legs for me."

"You're...You're not catching up," but then her knees bend, thighs pulling apart.

His eyes rest on her, closing briefly at the intensity coursing through him, a live wire he's not equipped to diagnose. Then he's off the bed, focus never leaving the screen when he removes his pants in a fast motion and returns to his spot.

"Are you wet through the lace?"

Her lids shut this time when her hands find her panties. "You know the answer's yes."

There's a logical order to this. Or he could surprise her, shock her, throw her with a filthy demand, pushing against that _within reason_ and letting her ride it out like he thinks she might want. But she's having him bet on a hand, and he already doesn't feel like he's controlling how the cards are played. Letting someone else manage the game forces him to risk his winnings. Seeing her bare over an inadequate screen, too far to touch is playing the hand out of sync. But one can't stop when they've already been dared.

"Show me everything, Donna." This time, he lifts his hips, pulling down his boxers and doing the same, They're left staring at each other, lost in a complete game when they've not bothered to read the rulebook.

 _Everything._ That's what she is. That's what she's showing him. That's what he wants.

He grips himself, rubbing around the head and making unhurried pumps. "Touch yourself. The way you would if I wasn't here."

A hand rests on her center, tentative and slow at first while a second stays in front of a nipple. He can't see full clarity in her movements, but he's mesmerized all the same. Her speed picks up, hands more frantic.

"What do you want? Do you want to come?" he asks.

"I... want you. Here. But yes."

"Where would my fingers be?"

She whimpers out a breath.

"Put yours where you... want me to be."

"Harvey." She breathes his name then pauses, her fingers at a steady pace before they slow, shifting down and partially disappearing deep into her folds. The other hand slides down and replaces an outer rhythm on her clit. Her pace progresses, and he groans at the noises coming from both pairs of her lips. She'll undo him far beyond tonight for this.

She's getting closer. Involuntary jerking of her knees, her focus drifting from him. Gasps and whimpers erratic sending repeated jolts he's struggling to control.

He asks the obvious, needing to remind her it's him controlling the pull of her frenzied string. "Almost there?"

"Yes." She slows, eyes meeting his through the screen, carnal and begging. "Harvey," his name lingers. "What would you... do to me... if…" Her hair has begun to stick to her face. "Without our rules...or history?"

The pounding behind his temples is unwanted. The unbearable throb in his cock _is_.

Everything his body has ever desired is laid out in front of him. Between her legs, in the rise of her breasts, inside her mouth. A newly discovered arrangement within a bakery with aromas dressed as words tangling him up and losing himself in excess. The nearly invisible glass rests between his wants and what's being offered. Look, touch, lick, smell, but don't fully consume. He shuts the door, hazarding in the fantasy.

"I'd pound you, Donna." _It's what she wants_. It's _his_ immediate want.

She lets out a cry, his words hitting her and her ached sound hitting him.

"I'd process twelve years...buried inside you."

Pressure stacks him close with the image of her splayed in front of him. Tension in every limb, head turning one way and the other, all rehearsed decorum long lost in the mercy of staggered commands.

Her legs and hips buck from the bed, and he wants nothing more than to be there to man the ride. He succumbs to the image of her, rapt in the displayed plunge. The meaning in the moment as much as water. Air. Breath.

Her long gasps slow, indicating his time has come. So he does easily, only held back the entire course by sheer will. Control subsides with final quick fist passes in a rush, tension maxxed with his dick spurting over his abdomen, attracting her depleted stare.

He's spent, exhausted, but with a recognition in this thoughts. His mastery of the game had been found somewhere between her asking him what he would do and what he'd answered. The sadist in him had wanted to deny her the request, giving her the faults that contract had banked on. The same flaws he's lost in finding her. He played the hand she wanted instead. One moment, behind transparent walls and through high speed, he was the man she didn't trust him to be.

After reality returns, the boxers discarded beside him wipe up his mess.

The silence over the screen is deafening to him, stretching out beyond comfort judging by the shift in her body. _Coming_ was supposed to bring relief, joy, and closeness. Somehow his had brought the adverse of all three.

"You okay there, Harvey?"

He settles his face, taking her in. Exactly like his most sordid dreams. Tangled hair, a sheen of sweat, leisurely but satisfied grin, loose limbs. Except, in this version they were miles apart. "Yeah, I'm fine. That was nice, Donna."

Her bottom lip falls from her top.

He closes his eyes, hating himself for not being able to close their chaos. Maybe he's not enough. "I should go finish cleaning up."

"Okay." But it doesn't sound it.

She's hurt, and from past experience, that was never a way to leave her.

"Thank you for that," he attempts, falling short. He sucks in a breath, the truth barely hiding behind his pain. Some of it breaks loose. "I've...never wanted anyone as much as I want you."

Her lips part wider, leaving her with about the same expression he'd caused with an _I love you_. He wants to fix it, never risking what leaving that night had lost him before. He's out of confessions, out of banter, and most of all, out of ideas on how to bridge his shortcomings to make them something else.

* * *

Donna shuts her laptop when his stream cuts off, her heart visually pounding above her naked breasts. She's missing something. The turn that had gone awry. With _Harvey_. The one she reads best.

She'd given him what he'd asked for. Only holding back on an all-access pass. He'd started each of their escapades enraptured enough. The dives into the abyss together kept leaving him sullen and she needed to decipher the tells.

She picks up her phone, pressing the newest number stored inside. "Hi, Warren? I need to leave at noon tomorrow."

* * *

 _A/N's: I don't even have any words for what I just wrote. So, hopefully you enjoyed it? Please review if you're willing(I live for them when I'm struggling to write)? Also, THANK YOU SO much for the amazing support and reviews. I had almost given up this story, and pushed myself to continue thanks to a few of you being so lovely, kind, and pestering. ;)_

 _Also, a special thanks to BewG and Kate McK for helping me with_ beta'ing _. KateMcK for catching my errors, and BewG for helping me not sound ridiculous, and making me laugh and blush with her comments._


	6. Chapter 6

Foolishness is getting on a plane to meet a man that acted depressed after an orgasm caused by the woman sexually performing for him, at his own command no less. Yet reason had never met Harvey Specter and never been in between Donna and an emotional mystery. She needs answers about his actions, and maybe even more so her own.

The internal rabid butterfly from the day before is back in her chest, wings cutting against the sides of her heart, creating chaos and need for escape. She isn't letting it loose yet. To heal what it leaves behind, she has to endure the chance of extra wounds.

She crosses her legs, waiting in a seat by her terminal. The stranger across from her glances up when the hemline of her dress slips higher. She can't deny he's hyper-attractive; ticking all the right boxes. Dark hair and scruff groomed in precision, wearing Stefano Ricci if her radar is correct.

Less than a week ago, her response would've been different. She adjusts and ignores him, using her phone as distance. The sudden sing of her ringtone surprises her, Rachel's name bordering along the top. She contemplates letting it go, but knowing her friend that will only make her concern grow, leading to unanswerable questions.

"Hey Rach," she answers cooly.

"Donna, hi."

"What's up?"

"I heard you left early, and...I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine. With Harvey out of town I took the opportunity to catch up on some things." Donna flips over her luggage tag, keeping her tone schooled and casual.

"Oh. Okay." Rachel's tone is hesitant. "What are you up to? It sounds busy there."

Donna takes a glance around the crowded Friday afternoon terminal. She stares at the half-empty latte in her hands. "Just getting some coffee."

"Did I hear a flight announcement?"

Donna mentally replays the last minutes worth of sounds. And they're absent of one thing. " _Mike told you._ "

"He didn't _not_ tell me," Rachel says, drawing out her words.

Frustration rises like poured sand, hopefully with the granules burying Mike well above his head. "Tell him Vegas has lots of mafia. I'll easily hire someone."

" _Donna_. We're both worried about you."

"It's a flight, Rachel. Not hang gliding."

"You're always there for me. Let me be there for you."

Donna sighs. Maybe allowing the words out would help her gain clarity. And Rachel is the gentlest place to do it. "Since you already know intimate details I didn't want to share... A few days ago, Harvey came on to me."

"Oh my god. What did you say?"

"I kinda didn't know how to handle it. But as you know a few things happened, and somehow in the midst of that he ended up upset." Donna wasn't going to reveal the ins and...err... _outs_ of the what led to it.

"I still can't believe this is finally happening."

"Rachel," Donna cautions, because she's not in the place to let the magnitude of this fall into place.

"Do you know why?" Rachel asks, picking up the cue and switching course.

 _Why he was upset._ That's the mystery. Donna replays the last few days in her head again, still trying to make sense of how they got from pinkies almost touching in the conference room to long-distance video sex. "I took a temporary position helping Warren. And then I made this contract for sex. I think both are bothering him."

"A _what_?"

Donna groans. "It's so stupid. I panicked. I mean it's _me and Harvey_. And I thought, with his track record and our history, I should be smart and set some rules. This is my career if things went badly."

" _What_ exactly's in the contract?"

The starring detail sticks in her throat, sounding absurd without the tease to Harvey. "Ensuring my position was secure and that we couldn't…" She struggles for the ambiguous public phrasing. "Do P-n-V." Her eyes glance around, hoping the older woman staring at her from further down the opposite row had an appreciation for gingers and isn't excited for other reasons.

"P-n-V as in…"

"Yep," Donna lets the "P" pop for emphasis. Which only makes her think of his impressive anatomy they're discussing with acronyms.

"Huh."

" _I know._ It's just…" She knew it sounded insane. "When Warren's offer came up, Harvey responded only thinking of himself. Not that I'm surprised. I would expect that. But it told me maybe I was letting his flirting cloud my judgment. So when I thought on what he'd said, about this fulfilling our needs, I thought the contract made this a safe compromise. We'd fool around, I'd feel in control, and I didn't have to…"

"Get as emotionally attached?"

"You could say that."

"You know, most people try dating first."

"Guess where that would've ended." Donna closes her mouth, realizing what she's revealing. She glances at the man in front of her, who smartly keeps eyes on the phone near his lap.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. He said something to me that really…" _I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you._ "I don't know how to take it."

The line pauses. "Are you going to tell me what it was?"

"No." She's shared enough for one spring afternoon.

"Hearing you, as your friend, you may think you're holding back. But things don't have to end in sex for feelings to be involved."

"Rach-"

"Maybe just," Rachel pauses. "Try talking about it."

If only Rachel understood what a futile effort that always ended up being.

"You've got a weekend. Use it to maybe get back on track."

"I assume you don't mean doing what Mike walked in on?" Donna quips.

"What did he walk in on?" Rachel asks carefully.

"Wait, he didn't tell you?"

"He didn't give me details."

"Huh. Tell him he'll live another day."

Rachel laughs. "I guess you're not giving me details on that either?"

Donna forces out a breath. "I'll owe you a few when I get back."

"You will." The line goes quiet. "Donna? I hope this ends up being everything you want it to be."

That's the problem Donna realizes as she says her goodbyes. Coming close to the answer to whatever that is makes the rabid butterfly inside flap all the more fiercely.

The man from across takes a seat next to her shortly after she ends the call. He flirts. Some exchange about troubling phone calls and exchanging stories in first class on the plane with impromptu drinks in Vegas. He's overly charming and leaves his card. Investment banker. An option to keep in her back pocket, because she'd long ago learned everyone you meet has potential for usefulness eventually, whether it be for business, pleasure, or a future contact.

She realizes when she's on the plane she left the card behind. It's hard to think of backup options when you've tasted having the attention of the one.

* * *

Donna is nothing if not meticulous. The stranger's business card is an unimportant oversight, yet the detail plays in her mind on the flight, making her feel like something else more pressing may have slipped with the Harvey distraction as well. She goes through her mental copy of her trip preparation list as she makes her way through the hotel lobby of the Rio. All items packed. All pre-flight incidentals done and checked. No doors left unlocked, nor flat irons plugged in. All items at the office done above and beyond her job title.

A quick drink at the bar would probably settle the frenzy inside her. Anxiety is driving this, and she might figure out how to shift herself into park if she gives rationale the chance to drive. Nothing usual is forgotten, so why does she have such fret?

She's off the elevator, steps away from her impetuous surprise. She knocks. Then the niggling feeling crashes into her. The mystery detail attacks; the meaning suddenly clear.

The door swings open and the detail settles into her, enmeshing itself within her skin like maybe it has existed all along and only released long enough to make its presence known.

He's there in the unwinded version of his suit. Top two buttons free, sans tie. Sleeves rolled, eyes slightly wide with a hint of a smile. Before he can speak she's casting herself toward him, lips pressing into lips with a force that sends him back a step. He hums into her mouth and pulls at her waist until they're combined.

No words, just the twirl of her head from free-falling and him spinning them to press her into the wall. She lets go, allowing herself to breathe into the beauty of the plunge, feel the wind of his hot exhales intermingling with her own, the sensation of her belly needing to catch up with the rest of her when his tongue is working between her lips, her legs dangling and unsteady making her want to collapse to the ground with him.

His mouth begins a journey down her chin to meet neck, fingers roughly searching her torso for buttons to free. She feels untamed at this unknown place, a panic she doesn't know how to find a corner to ride out without forgetting all of who she is. He pulls his face from her pulse point, and it's like a shot of oxygen. Her coat parts, his greedy eyes looking her over with a smirk. She swallows, thankful her feet are in flats so her heels can center her to the ground.

"Checking for something?" she manages half her usual tease.

"Just wasn't sure if you were surprising me trenchcoat-style."

"I'm better than that outdated cliché."

"I wouldn't have complained."

"If I had been, you'd be exposing me right now." Her voice is low as she glances over to the open door with several hotel guests passing.

He clears his throat, his fingers letting coat lapels fall as he gathers her luggage and sets it just inside, closing the door. "I wasn't expecting you."

She pulls off her coat, laying it over her suitcase. "If you're complaining, I could go get another room."

"Not a chance." He takes her in again, stopping at the sweetheart neckline of her maroon dress, a relaxed smile on his face. "Are you going to explain?"

"Are you? Your orgasms end uniquely," she teases.

"About that-"

"We'll talk after."

His brow shoots up. " _After?_ "

"First, I need assurance no more will end with you despondent. You could hurt a gal's ego."

"Donna…" His mouth purses with a bend of his head not fully tangling himself in her humor. "About that. I can handle a better reaction the next time. But we should talk."

"I already responded to the timing of that." She stalks up to him, coaxing with palms on chest until his back hits wall. She positions in front of him and lowers, hands resting on his belt buckle. "First, I owe you something."

"I'm not actually keeping score."

She pulls the leather from the metal, then begins work on the clasp of his pants. "I figured you of all people would be better at fighting for a fair deal." She pulls down a zipper, then yanks down boxers and pants in a single motion until they're at his feet, revealing his cock already with a head start.

He lets out a mild grunt. "I didn't realize this was a negotiation."

She arches a brow then drops to her knees, body finally finding a place to rest. "Are you protesting?" Her eyes are wide and staring up to his with a challenge.

"Not at all." He smirks down at her, his face a bit pink. "Do you need a pillow?" His throat is clearing again, as she leans closer to his jutting out member.

"I'll manage." Then, her tongue finds him. First the tip, licking his full head in a tease, then multiple long strokes, moistening every inch of his shaft. He seals himself against the wall, and she adjusts closer.

Finally, she takes him. Tongue swirling his head, wrapping fingers in a _C_ to assist. He's grown at rapid speed, firm and full in her mouth.

The obviousness of the push and pull of sucking him off settles in her consciousness. Taking him deeper, increasing suction, pulling back only to give in more. She notates each reaction of her tongue and lips sweeping over him: the rise and fall of his stomach, the flat of his palms against the wall switching to tightly clenched fists as she's working him closer.

A build grows between her legs from their display. Not enough to take her over the edge but enough for her to use his arousal to bring her closer. He watches her with weighted eyes. There's more to what they're giving each other. A service, an offering, and a control. None of the three fully his, and not just about the ability for her to master his pleasure.

For the part of a man that held the identity of power, his cock is also the most sensitive and the quickest to feel pain. There's a trust with her jaw around him. Her mouth clings to him, caresses him, gives firmness with a need for more.

In reciprocation, she's trusting him to hold back the thrusts she feels are desperate to take over, making muscles in his legs shake as his orgasm builds. The barely repressed control that keeps his hands from doing anything more than fisting in her hair, ultimately pushing back against his primal need for full release.

Fingernails take turns with fingertips to graze on hypersensitive skin, spending moments on thighs, lower abdomen, ass, and balls. Squeezing and kneading, pressing into and drawing back. Her jaw expands to take more of him, while discovering which stroke brings the highest pleasure.

She hums against him and a moan escapes his lips, breaths growing more labored and quick. She can feel the tensing of his thighs, the slight jerk of his hips. He's on the brink.

"Donna," he warns in a strangled tone. "I'm…"

She meets his eyes and accepts him, all of him that she can manage. She didn't fly across the country to reject their rhythm. They're a risqué poetry as she receives his release. He's always holding back, ashamed to let go in order to task anyone else with his moment of ultimate weakness. She takes what he unburdens on her like she always does, this time letting him collapse into the erotic embrace of her mouth.

The effortful rise and fall of his chest while he helps her to stand is empowering. She's the cause of making Harvey Specter sweat, making him yield to her. Need her. Want her. Allowing her close.

She catches the purposeful breaths he's taking to bring himself back, his eyes locked on her face. She wipes at the sweat beading along his brow, while he adjusts a few strands of her hair. Then, he presses his lips to hers. Sensual and relaxed, appreciative and reverring. His kiss deepens, fingers finding her ass, squeezing with enough possession to make her insides flex. His hands shift along the outside of her thighs, bunching fabric to get to hem.

"Harvey? Can we eat first? I had to skip lunch to make my flight." Poor planning on her part. Undiscovered bodily territory called fast to those that had yearned for sexual exploration. She rubs her knees, now sore and tingling, kind of like the ache her center feels at being unfinished.

He's staring down at her action, biting a lip. "You okay, there? I offered pillows."

"Go sit." She points to the sectional in front of them. "Do you need some water? You look parched."

He pulls up and tucks everything in place, then zips and complies, falling back on the corner of the oversized gray sofa. "I'm...sure you could use some too."

She shoots him a glare, then goes to grab a pair of glasses and a bottle of water from the small kitchen around the corner, and when she returns he's on the hotel phone.

He hangs up quickly. "I ordered room service. Italian and wine sound okay?"

"Sounds good." She pours for them both, handing him a glass.

He drains it quickly, watching her with a much more satisfied look than the night before. "Are we talking now?"

"Okay, let's talk." She takes another sip, puzzled how so much had changed between them and yet they still sat a body width apart. "Now you look happy," she observes.

"You flew twenty-five hundred miles to do what you just did. That could've waited until after the weekend, you know." He hides a smirk in the final sip.

"That's not all that's on my list," she evens.

His smile fades, and he leans back against cushions, all focus in an empty glass.

Her shoulders fall at his response, feeling her impatience spread like dust. "It's obvious something in this isn't working for you, and I'm not letting everything we have together implode based on a miscommunication."

He works his jaw but doesn't meet her eyes. "Okay." A frown settles. "The contract. It bothers me." His eyes finally look her way.

"All right. We can talk about that. Because of sex?"

His lips press firmly together. "Would that be so terrible?"

"No, Harvey. But you came to me after years of no encouragement, and suddenly you're wanting to rub oil on me and talking about us getting naked. You can't just expect me to instantly switch." Her hand motions between them to emphasize the point, and she's unnerved that he's remaining so calm when her thoughts are trying to temper mania.

"You seemed to enjoy my attention," he says evenly.

"Yes," she admits, but shakes her head at their discussion. "But I needed something to slow us down so my brain could catch up to what was happening between us."

"For someone that wanted to slow things down, you've been the one eager to instigate our encounters."

"That's far from accurate, Harvey."

His brow draws together, eyes wide. "The storage room, the video chat, falling to your knees."

Her palms flash up. "I responded with what you wanted."

He leans forward, his glass clinking against the glass coffee table, and she feels relief he's finally reacting. He juts his hand her way. "That's bullshit, Donna. Okay, maybe I wanted that, but so did you."

She shakes her head. It's no wonder they've been able to remain ambiguous. They may as well be thirteen years worth of snarled threads, all meshing together and tangling them into a useless highway of unusable paths.

"You know me, Donna. Expressing feelings? Not my area. I went with what works." His fingers reach down and trace the back of her hand, pinky touching pinky again as he links their hands together.

She stares down at them combined, remembering this is what preceded the pinky flirting in the beginning the night Jessica left. What did he want from her?

"You're saying you used a supposed weakness I have for you?" She starts to pull away, but he coaxes her closer, and she reluctantly slides until their thighs touch and his arm wraps around her shoulders.

"I'm saying this isn't just about sex for me."

She swings her head his way. "Do you want to stop what we've been doing?"

His narrow eyes rest on her, his face a mess of humor and concern. " _No._ "

Her eyes dart north, to escape getting caught up in the flirtatiousness in his eyes. He's nothing if not predictably greedy and possessive. It doesn't stop the burden of what they're in the process of discovering coiled in her chest. Together or not. Want or Unwanted.

A firmness settles in his expression. "If you're not ready to let go, that's fine. We'll keep exploring whatever the fuck this is. But you need to stop pretending this is nothing more than an impersonal contract. That's what I can't take."

Her lips part, pulling in an evening breath. He takes advantage and presses his open mouth to hers.

He pulls away, his forehead resting against hers. "Can we add that to the list of rules?" he asks, a hinted annoyance behind the words.

She nods against him, dizzy and needing fuller breaths.

"Good." He pecks her, and there's a knock at the door.

He leaves her sitting there, swirling with too many realizations and admissions, her brain still trying to rewind her back when the contract laid on her desk and she made arrangements for a storage room tryst.

* * *

 _A/Ns: This was going to be double the size or more, but I split it for story flow and writing ease. I hope the changes work. I struggled a lot with this chapter, but HUGE thanks to Bew0G for all the time talking me through it and reading, and mieh for doing that too and the suggestion to leave this as a whole. And to Kate McK for always checking my writing over for me._

 _And thank you all SO much for the reviews and comments/messages on Twitter. I appreciate them so much. I often come back and read them when I'm feeling down or like giving up this writing thing.(I know I say some variation of this every time, but it's true!)_


	7. Chapter 7

Four declarations in four days play on a repeated shuffle in her head. The final one the trigger pressing play.

 _She's_ _ **the**_ _interest._

 _He's never wanted anyone the way that he wants her._

 _This isn't just about sex._

 _He can't take them being nothing more than an impersonal contract._

The statements weave together in their complicated web, trying to connect the words with the Harvey she knows, and the Harvey she's afraid of getting lost in. Strands are merging before her eyes, and she's dizzy from spinning in her search for emotional organization.

Harvey's staring from across the table. Maybe not staring. Gazing. _With pleasure._ Only five days since he'd crossed their line and shifted their focus to physical recreation. Now he's barely touched his food and is leisurely drinking his wine. Like she's the focal point amongst the vast luxury they're resting in.

This entire plan, the flirting, the taking care of needs, the contract, and the carrying out of the contract feels like a blunder. Yet the minute he'd asked she'd emotionally jumped, because that's what she does with him. Even afraid, she'd trusted he had a vision. Right now her vision of him is mixed somewhere between explicit trust and knowing his attraction to shiny things and the combination terrifies her. Perhaps more than her inability to keep from leaping over cliffs when his lips got involved.

And his lips are definitely involved. Smiling at her, kissing her, killing her with words, and soon to be all over sultry flesh. Her face goes hot, and she tries to drown the temp in her wine.

"You're quiet," he says with a sip of his glass.

"And you're barely eating."

"Your mind was on food. Mine was one finishing what you started earlier." He scoots his chair closer to hers, upsetting the symmetrical balance. Lips lean closer to brush just under her ear, bringing chills with rising goosebumps. His hand lands on her thigh, nose nuzzling in her hair. Then fingers slide higher, pulling the hem of her dress with them. A throb settles between her legs.

"Do I need to tie your hands up to finish dinner?" she scolds, his palm now resting at the top of her thigh.

"I wouldn't mind."

Fingers slip inward and she traps them with a tight close of her legs. "What happened to all this talk about more than the physical?"

His eyes make a repeated dot to dot connection between his hand trapped in between her thighs and her eyes, playfulness and desire in the action. "That's quite a grip." He pulls hard, freeing his fingers.

His arm settles along the back of her chair instead. "And, I can't help it. It's been how many years, Donna? I haven't even gotten to taste you yet."

Her stomach keeps plunging without her brain's consent. "That's because you're supposed to be eating something else." She gently shoves him away. "We can fool around after, but we need sustenance."

He takes a bite of pasta and a sip of wine, an obscurity in his expression. "What other things are you going to surprise me with?"

"Then they wouldn't be surprises, would they? Finish your dinner."

"I like how you force my pants down but I have to wait for you to be ready."

"A woman needs foreplay." She takes a sip of wine. "Are you complaining?"

He's suppressing a grin. "No."

The conversation shifts, falling into small talk about amenities of Vegas and details about his out-of-town case. The tension visually builds in him while he talks, rigidity forming in his shoulders, and a hardness in his face. He's stressed, but the details of the case don't seem to match the heightened response.

He's holding back still, maybe not about them but it reminds her the man in front of her isn't ever fully exposed, despite giving her access to the usually covered, the obscure still remained. She wonders if they're the bonus complication that comes saddled with him, never wanted but must be overlooked in order to take home the prize.

When they finish dinner, Donna heads for her things, thrown by the unknown of the night. "Where am I sleeping?"

"I assumed with me."

"Will you behave yourself?"

"I figured you'd prefer I didn't."

Her cheeks prickle with the heat of the truth. Neither of them moves, her body suddenly absent of response.

"There is a second room," he points out, no encouragement in the words.

She didn't want them anyway. "No."

He nods, an arm extending to the right to lead the way. He flips a switch illuminating the room in low light from a table lamp.

The bedroom is post-modern with a 70's flair. A large bed is the centerpiece framed by a turquoise suede headboard, with a wall-length window showcasing a distant lit up Vegas strip.

She wants to open a window or turn up the A/C when they step inside. The air feels thick, but with the jittery feeling in her hands she doubts it's the temp. She finds a folding luggage rack and sets it next to the dresser, beginning to unload clothing into an empty drawer, and setting toiletries on the surface.

Harvey stares from beside the bed, silent but watching.

Her climbing anxiousness feels ridiculous. She can't look at him, nor can she settle the indescribable beat thrumming in her pulse. Her suitcase runs out of items, and she's out of excuses not to notice where they're standing. She turns around, remaining in place, over ten feet between where he's fixed and where she's lost.

He's looking at her like she's an untamed animal and he's observing, not sure how not to chase her away. Then, he's taking tentative steps toward her. He stops just in front, pulling her closer by both hands.

His lips turn up at the corners. "I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous."

"I just don't..this _is new_ , Harvey." Her voice barely sounds like her own anymore. She doesn't know where she put her bravado, but it disappeared somewhere between releasing him from her mouth and drinking more than half the bottle of wine.

"Do you want me to get you more comfortable?"

She can feel the reverberation of his tone somewhere low. Her lips part, because _'God, yes'_ wants to come out, but the words seem terrifying and a launch further than her trembling nerves can take.

"Donna, you're practically shaking." He rubs hands up and down her arms.

"The traveling. The wine," she offers.

His head bends. "Wine doesn't make you shaky."

"Can we just…?" She doesn't know the rest of her question or why she's struggling so much, but the butterfly inside feels like it's rapidly multiplied, and she's panicking just as sudden.

He catches her chin, leaning down and picking her up from this uneven place with a press of his lips against hers. Her trembles don't disappear fully but sink lower while her heart floats high, lips sucked between his and arms holding her safely in the ride. They pull her in tight, steadying her while his tongue makes her belly spin. Kissing him is thrill and serenity all at once and she's not sure how both are molded to coexist.

Then he takes her deeper, coasting faster, holding on to the thrill of his tongue exploring hers as if the connection of them is the only place that makes her feel alive. His want presses into her, turning her head upside down along with her outlined resolve. Like she was needing this. Like jumping in with him was the key all along.

He slows them then, a tense press of the brakes as he pulls them to a less frenetic level. Mouth finds untouched skin on her face and neck, less manic, more longing. Her hands grip fistfuls of his shirt, perhaps too tightly because the sudden excitement has tailspinned her into shock.

"Let me control tonight."

She'd tied him up in a rule for more than a dozen years, maybe with them both knowing at anytime he could have let himself free. The illusion of holding the reins, when he could've taken them and she would have lost herself in the ride. She nods. Desperately. Because perhaps they both knew it. She may not fully trust the unknown, but she'll trust to succumb to it with him in control.

He pulls away, reaching around her toward the dresser and for a moment she's confused. He plucks up a bottle from within others and then she knows what he's doing.

 _The massage_ _oil._ She'd brought it to repay another unfulfilled moment for him. He observes her face as he holds it between them. "Do we need to turn around this time?"

Her head shakes back and forth slowly. His tongue juts out and trails over his bottom lip, setting the bottle of oil back down on the dresser behind her. He coaxes her toward him with a yank of her waist, then a hand scoops her hair around the side of her neck. She feels her neckline tug with the sounds of a zipper being pulled down her back. His fingers hook under the fabric resting on her shoulders and he pulls them apart, fingers brushing skin as her dress drops to the floor.

She stands in barely-there lace, freckles and paleness shining more than the glitter of the Vegas night. Exposed and surrendering, allowing him to decide how much.

He begins unbuttoning his shirt and her fingers deftly speed up the process. She pulls the tails out of his waistband and he yanks it from both arms and tosses in a heap to the side, followed by the tank underneath. Her fingers find his chest, feeling him, brushing against the beats of the man she'd memorized on the outside, but only by distant memory underneath the suit.

He sucks at the hollow of her neck while her fingertips press into the warmth of his back. He frees her bra while they're pressed together, flattening an exploring tongue on her collarbone before stepping away again to appreciate the view while she pulls off the straps and joins the item with his shirts.

A low groan hides under his breath as his gaze gently falls over her exposed skin, lids narrowing focus on the last piece. She pulls them down for him, heat building between her legs from the darkness in his eyes. He loses his pants and boxers quickly behind her, leaving them both bare to each other except for the stacked uncertainties between them.

Seeing him like this makes her pulse thunder, more of what she'd privately revered, all of what she'd silently tucked deeply. _Want._

He moves in to kiss her again, his growing cock pressing into her belly and she gasps at the contact, a grip of hollowness in her center wanting union. He's reaching back for the bottle of oil and snapping it open. She wonders how he can have so much control with their boundaries dropped to the floor.

He tucks a strand of red behind her ear. "Put up your hair."

She nods and complies, twisting it in a messy bun and reaching into her toiletry bag on the dresser to grab a couple of pins, securing it to the top of her head.

He moves around her back, and she hears the slickness of oil rub between his hands. They're soon on her shoulders sliding over thickly, and then slip up to her neck. The nakedness isn't the only thing that makes this unique to his last massage. The touch is light, and more of a caress, igniting each inch of skin, leaving each past area envious of the next. Shoulder-blades to down her spine, reaching low on her back and reapplying oil whenever the slip over skin became less slick. Palms soothe down sides and this time move down her waist to buttocks, smoothing over the outside, then moving toward the center. She pulls in a staggered breath when he ventures between her cheeks, confining oxygen until she gasps when fingers sneak amidst her thighs in a non-exploring tease.

The last thing he works is arms, and when that's finished he picks up the bottle and hands it over her shoulder. "You wanna do me?"

She lets the double entendre slip because she's struggling for air. "Yeah."

When he hands her the bottle she moves behind him. "We're not moving to the bed?" She squeezes a quarter-sized amount in her hands, then follows the similar path he'd taken, starting with his shoulders.

"I have my reasons."

She kneads more than he did, working into tight muscles before moving to the next area. Her lips keep finding unexplored places on his back. Shoulder-blades and spine, muscles of his arm, the feeling of stronger sinews under heated soft skin like a charged magnet for her open mouth. Her eyes close. Breathing him in. Tongue relishing his taste.

When she passes her hands past waist to buttocks she sees his head tip back. A bit of her confidence slips back into place while paying homage to the area she'd been tempted to grab or smack on more than one occasion. Sensual kneading, intimate strokes until he groans. Teasing him. Reminding him what he felt when her mouth took over his pleasure.

When she finishes with his arms he turns around, his cock is already in full glory and ready to connect. He's always masculine but seeing the whole of him displayed overfills her desire. Even though she'll never share with him how much.

She works the remaining oil on her hands all over his chest and stomach, the muscles under skin attracting her hands like a divine sensory experience. She takes a little more oil and surprises him with a grip. He grabs her wrist but doesn't pull her hand away. She works it into his stretched member and around his balls. His eyes close and he hisses when her fingers encircle him again. She swirls her hands around him, and he begins thrusting into her fist. Suddenly he pulls her hand away.

"Turn around," he orders calmly.

Nervousness climbs up her spine and into her chest. Her back is already slick, and there's obviously an unrevealed plan in the request.

"You trust me?" he asks.

Her lips press together and she nods. "Yes." Because she does. In too many things and in too many ways. So she turns.

She hears the oil and then feels his want press into her back, his arms embracing around her middle and slicking over her abdomen. They slide easily around before they move smoothly over her breasts, thumbs slipping to flick back and forth over hard nipples. The attention from earlier makes his front slip against her back, the sensual experience of them oily together making it hard to process more than intense erotic sensation.

Then, his palm descends. A path down her stomach, moving lower until it's passing over her mound. He teases her outer lips first, then they slip into center. She gasps as he slides fingers in between her folds. Oil isn't needed, as she's far more slick than even their most lubed parts. Her legs are quickly unsteady, but his arm around her middle pulling her flush against him holds her upright.

Out of nowhere he lets go, leaving a chasm of emptiness and cool air that her body wants to bend backward to get back. The bottle squeezes once again, and when she glances over her shoulder he's rubbing it around his dick. He snaps the cap and sets it further back on the dresser.

He kisses her again, tongue searching and achingly sensual, communicating something that sends a personalized message straight to her core. He backs her toward the side of the bed and turns her to face it. A beat thrums in her chest because she doesn't have a clue what's happening next yet she needs him to do this. To take charge, to decide what her head won't let her free herself from.

He presses palms on the outside of her thighs. "Press your legs together."

"What?" she squeaks out.

"You need this," he peels out gently. "We both do. Do it and grip the edge of the bed."

She doesn't think, she responds. Her thighs tightly squeeze together which doesn't help the ache the pressure creates between her legs. She bends and her ass pushes out, flat palms landing on the mattress.

His fingers find her from behind, slipping in between the tight press of her folds. The feeling is snug, stretching sensitive skin as his fingers horizontally delve between her lips. Then, she feels the head of his cock pressing where his fingers had just been.

"Harvey," she manages, his name a question for the reassurance of his voice.

"Donna, if you don't trust me, I'll stop."

"No." She pauses, catching her breath. "Do it."

"Keep your thighs tight."

His fingers make room by parting her lips, and his cock invades the space. Pressing firmly, her slickness and the extra oil allow him to force his way through the tight space. He quickly reaches around her, one arm looping over her stomach with a hand gripping a breast, the other flings over her hip and reaches between her legs, disappearing in the front.

Then, he thrusts.

Finding a rhythm, the fingers in the front being used to slip between to press the head to bump her clit on each forward motion. His lips find skin on her back and neck, devouring her as he repeats each shove forward.

He may as well be stealing breaths for how dizzying this feels. Each pass makes it hard to concentrate, brushing against her sex but never close enough.

"You okay?" he asks as he picks up a bit of speed.

"My legs." She feels like she'll collapse from how weak they feel.

"I've got you."

"Harvey, I can't…"

Each hit to her clit lights a flame to her core. She feels a craze inside her. Needing more of him. Needing to open all the way when she's pressed so tightly closed. She curses this fucking contract. She has to tell him. Beg him to stop this delectable nonsense and give her more. All of him.

"You like it?"

Her lips betray her with something between a whimper and a moan. He grunts behind her, thrusting past her clit making his body slap against her buttocks.

"The...contract," she says.

" _I know_."

"No." Her abdomen is aching. Clinging into itself to bring her womb relief. "Please slow down," she says in a rush. She can't properly tell him...like this.

"What?" he asks while keeping less intense strokes.

"I... _never signed it_. Can we just…" _A detail demised by her own subconscious._ She pulls in a few breaths. "Please?"

"What?"

"I...forgot."

"It's okay. We agreed _orally..._ and both of us have begun... _performing..._ our ends of the deal."

She swears to god he finds this funny, hitting her clit extra thoroughly now. _Okay, think of a comeback. Outsmart him and his…_ She throws her head back. _Torturous pace._ Then the clarity is there, _like at the doorway when she arrived._ _How she would invalidate that sex contract business once and for all._

"A small conflict of interest. I'm not finalizing that contract... anymore... so it won't hold." She finally manages the words. Her legs are shaking, her body starting an unnumbered count to the edge and she swears if she comes without him getting in she's never fucking him ever again.

"Shit," he says. "You're good at this."

"I know," she breathes. "So please... put it in?"

"We should... talk after. I wouldn't want to... _push_ you," he grunts out.

 _Oh for fuck's sake._ She wiggles her thighs to allow her hand to slip between her legs and mid thrust she times it to perfection, forcing his head inside, stabbing between her slick walls in an instant. He pushes to the brink and stills. "Fuck, Donna. Are you sur-"

"Yes." Her voice is muffled, hair falling out of the pins and curtaining her face and slumped shoulders now just above the mattress. His single plunge fills her, burns in that desired ache of being combined in the transcendent need.

His hand that had been between her legs coaxes her thighs apart and he pulls out almost completely before he buries into her once again. Stretching her and taking over. Giving her everything she's allowed him to take, more than enough and somehow never quenching the need fully. This isn't romance and candles but raw urgency.

He continuously buries into her, upper body collapsing into the mattress because anything other than anatomy rebounding against anatomy had lost. The fabric of the duvet brushes against her open lips, her hot pants the paint, her moans the inspiration, and her growing build the final masterpiece.

She'd been a fool again, getting so close to her hollowed out primal wants and expecting to stare lust in the face and outsmart it by deterrence in a parallel path. Maybe she'd been intentionally tempting it, tempting him to force his way in the way he was doing right now. Again and again, hitting the front of her walls with encouragement from his fingers tapping away at her clit. She's breathing underwater while her core is above the surface in the flames. She's upside down on the edge and only through him does she have a chance to be righted.

That tumble over the peak doesn't take long. It's jolting and too much, clenching her walls in pulses against his advances in search of his own equilibrium. She's still whirling from recovery when she feels him jerk against her slick body. His exhales are loud and heavy when he slumps against her, arms wrapping around her frame more tightly and face resting against the top of her spine.

He falls next to her, upper back resting against the mattress. He pulls her above him, his chest rising and falling in hard pants.

He raises his head, pulling her to meet his lips sloppily. "So we just…"

"Yeah."

"That was…"

"Messy," she answers. _In multiple ways._

He chuckles, planting a kiss on her forehead. "The contract?"

She forces out an exhale and starts to shift away.

He gets up, helping her stand. Her back screams a bit from the jolts while being bent over, while her insides throb in pleasured ache, and she feels like she'll leak everywhere if she doesn't cross her unstable legs.

He pulls her close, pressing their bodies now slick more from sweat than oil together. He helps her resettle hair that's wildly around her face. "Any regrets?"

"No," she states honestly. "But maybe worry?"

His lips bend down for a moment, then he pulls his upper body away and glances to the positioning of her legs. He smirks. "Come with me."

He pulls her by the hand to the bathroom and stops them in front of a massive oval tub. He helps her to step inside, turning the faucet and feeling for the temp. He engages the plug. "Sit."

"Are you still controlling this scenario?" she asks while she's complying.

He tilts his head. "That depends if you can handle more pleasure."

The words send a surge low. "I'm still coming down from your last surprise."

"Tonight's been revealing multiple surprises," he counters.

He motions for her to slide over, faucet waterfalling into the tub. He steps in next to her, sitting and facing her side. He settles and pulls her back to his chest.

"Are you going to wash my hair?" she asks with a tease.

"I planned on focussing somewhere else."

Her breath hitches and she leans into him, his arms wrapping around her frame.

The level begins to rise in the tub, and he scoops handfuls of the water and lets it empty on her skin, lips taking any droplets resting on her neck and shoulders.

"About the contract, Harvey-"

"Why didn't you sign it?"

"I forgot."

"You don't forget details like that."

"I don't."

"Then again, why?"

She shifts sideways and angles her face toward him, tongue caressing his before lips can touch. She loves the taste of his mouth. Sweet, hints of their drinks, and some indescribably familiar element that's all him and she could pick out from anyone else.

Pulling away, she studies his face, sighing. He'd mastered the art of admittance recently, but letting her own words out she'd forbidden even as thoughts for almost a quarter of her life takes an extra colossal effort. "I guess subconsciously I didn't want it there either."

A large grin punctuated by smile lines takes over his face. He's pompous and elated at her words. It fades into a smirk, eyes narrowing a hair and never leaving her face. His lips brush against hers. Softly. Relaxed. As if one more piece fell into place between them.

"Does that mean?"

She doesn't know what it means, except somewhere along the way, she had fallen into him emotionally. Only instead of a building path like most people took in a relationship, they'd taken the bag of logical steps and shook them up, pulling each piece by piece out of order. She had to find the unused pieces, creating uneven but usable steps. "Can we maybe just enjoy our weekend? Be us, let the rest lie, and see where this goes?"

He presses his lips together, a slight curve to them as he nods. "Does that mean I can't finish what I planned?"

Her eyes widen, and she evens her expression. "No. I think the butterflies in my stomach would protest." Because they're lighter all of a sudden. Less angry and more exhilarating. She's relieved she hadn't set the first one free.

He's smirking. "Turn around, Donna."

"Again?" she challenges.

He slants his head but helps her shift until they're facing each other, her legs bent between his. "Now lay back."

Her eyes dart north in a feigned annoyance, but she does as he says, settling her body in the few inches of hot water with her hair floating around her.

He wordlessly coaxes her frame toward the opposite wall of the tub, then parts her legs as wide as they'll go in the porcelain confines. He separates her lips with fingers of one hand and scoops up water, letting it trickle over her exposed sex. She pants a breath out of her lips, the light feeling of streaming drops stimulating. Then he's leaning forward more, lips just above the surface of the water. He blows, creating a mini-wave that breaks against her sensitive folds.

His simple attention on her in the bright bathroom light brings its own tantalizing edge. He's prowling and she's the prey tonight. There's a thrill in being in his focused hunt.

Eyes keep locked, his face moving forward between her legs before his tongue takes a slow tour between her slit. A gasp draws out with her breath when he hits her clit, reacting in an involuntary flex. He repeats the process, this time stopping to suck at where her labia meets water as if he needs to quench thirst. He blows against her damp skin, the lightness of the cool air a tease. She mewls when suddenly he's lapping at her clit, animal-like tongue seeking out his newfound oasis.

Her abdomen rises and falls with more labor, core tension pulling in and thoughts fading out. Fingers press at her opening, slipping into her aching entrance. She hisses at the sore sensation, waiting out the intrusion, settling into the feeling of bliss. His lips seal her then, suction and flickering of tongue playing an orchestra of her favorite piece as she waits out the fortissimo. Her legs begin to quake, a battle of tension between her womb and her clit. But her womb wins, his mouth leaving her. She whimpers, wanting to punch him and pull him back.

His fingers continue to pump.

"Harvey?" she pleads.

"You want to come again?"

"Yes," she admits.

He slides her weightless body in the water until her center is right under the running faucet.

"Hold yourself open for me."

She can't argue because she needs whatever she knows he'll give her. She gives in, and water crashes over sensitive flesh. She jerks at the sensation at first, almost writhing away but wanting to get closer to the familiar method she'd used alone before. But never at the mercy of someone else who liked to amuse himself with her teasing her pleasure.

Using his free hand on the opening of the faucet like a hose, he blocks the flow until it targets her clit with more pressure. The direct stimulation is overwhelming with her already fatigued sex. It's too much and not enough as she settles into a building wave. Her stomach tenses and reflexes out of her control, almost jumping ahead of her body's release.

Then, his fingers hit just right inside, the thundering on her clit forcing her hard over the edge. Her clit throbs and he lets go of the flow, turning down the pressure as she subsides, her walls clenching against the softness of water. Pulses drawing in and pressing out.

She pulls in breaths to settle from the intensity, the floating feeling being the perfect place to fall. He slips down along her side, facing her and smoothing wet tendrils from her face. Pressing kisses on her temple and cheek.

They stay that way for a long while. Soaking with bare wet skin pressed against bare wet skin in the warmth of the full tub, settling into his arms' security and breathing into the closest thing she'd ever felt to complete peace.

When the water gets cold, they get out and dry off. She puts on panties and a tank, climbing into bed.

He joins next to her in a pair of boxers, spooning her back, arm wrapping around her upper abdomen, leg hooked over her knee, and face nestling into the crook of her neck. "I thought we'd be more naked," he teases low into her ear.

She doesn't hold back a laugh. "Save it for later, Harvey."

"I don't want to."

"We both came twice already. These clothes will tamper that want of yours."

He presses a kiss under her ear. "Donna, I could have the entirety of the linens in this hotel between us and I'd still want you." His voice is a soft and lazy whine.

Her lips fall open, eyes wide. Frozen in shock and loss of response. So she doesn't. She just settles herself in his arms again. Silence falls between them until she almost fades to sleep. Then the truth rests at her lips. The darkness makes it hard to convince herself she needs to bury the confession deeper than him. "Harvey?"

He hums in response.

"I'm scared."

He props himself on an elbow, leaning over her. His top arm reaches around for a hand to cup her cheek. "I am too. I'm not sure where this will end up, Donna. Only where I want it to."

His lips press to hers and she flips over. Facing each other as they fall asleep, bodies wrapped and confessions freed.

* * *

 _A/N's: Are the confessions fully freed? Anyway, this is the conclusion of my Smutacular chapter. I know this was(again) different, but I seem to be drawn to the challenge of writing different. Hopefully it's not too out there and I didn't scare anyone away._

 _Thank you SO much for reading and the reviews! Please let me know how you felt about this too. I fret otherwise. And thank you to my wonderful writing partner Bew0G(read her stuff, it's great!) for helping me through each chapter and to Kate McK who always goes over my chapters when I post and helps me beta unfound errors. And Mieh for continuing to force me to write this._


	8. Chapter 8

Perhaps a presented idea of them crossing that line together meant they'd outgrown being forever undefined. Harvey had introduced the possibility of an escape, restructuring lines, and creating new roads to take as two.

Donna wakes sometime hours later. The night is silent, with the only evidence of the vivid dream of them becoming one lingering in the soreness of her body, the remnants of clothing discarded, and the nearly nude version of him with an arm weighing her in their new place. Reminding her he's here, and he wants her to remain beside him.

She picks up his limb with care and shifts it to rest on his side, keeping her hand on his forearm until he settles. A thumb brushes the soft hair there, waiting for the creases in his face to relax. She wants to kiss him. Forehead or mouth or temple. Feel his skin warm and tangible against her lips; a confirmation of intimacy. But she holds back, with a list revolving in her head as a way to tame her reservations over his frustrations and her fear. She instead slips out carefully.

The light of the late-night city illuminates her path to grab her phone from the nightstand. The art of him asleep is memorized in a final mental inhale. His arm had shifted, extending into her empty space, and somehow even though the state of them is new, it feels like one they'd engaged over and over in some far invisible lifetimes. Familiar. Déja Vu from her own hidden wishes.

She steps out of the room, painstaking in her silent close of the door. The first stop is her purse to grab her phone charger. Then, she sits, pulling up the screen.

 _2:55 am_

She checks the app for time availability. _Shit._ She's too late. Night delivery is out.

The city that never sleeps apparently does. _So much for surprises._

8:00 am is the earliest she can get supplies for her clandestine plan. She finishes her digital list, then shoots off an email to the coordinator she'd spoken with the day before.

It's finalized. If he said no or isn't interested this will have been a hell of a lot of trouble, but she's used to layers of backup options for his unpredictable whims.

His face is in a frown when she returns to the room, but he's still out and unaware beyond the fickleness of dreams. She plugs in both their phones on the nightstand. The sheet is low on his frame, expanse of bare stomach and chest in moonlit view. With the safety of closed eyes, she visually caresses him.

Wrapped tight in pliable skin, warmth and power meshed together with loyalty and fears. She wants to feel all of him. Like hours before. All reservations hidden by the absence of control and heated skin.

Her tank top is lost. His embrace is a harbor, and she's been missing in the turbulent seas of seclusion from him far too long. She slips beside him, further tempting the path, craving the oxytocin of his skin against hers. His arms oblige and she's warm in their need to be her haven. Then, she sleeps.

* * *

She wakes with her back fit against his front, humidity of breath hitting the highest vertebrae on her spine. His mouth soon replaces the feeling, igniting more than just the spots his lips met. Fate tempted, she nuzzles her butt into his groin, taking advantage of the first morning to feel one of the great pleasures of life. Male morning need.

He lets out a groan just behind her ear, helping with the task with an arm pressing against her belly and a thrust of his hips. Her insides ignite.

"Morning, Donna," he says, his tone low.

"Are those whispers because you _want_ something?"

" _It_ wasn't really whispering." He bumps against her behind again, this time keeping them extra flush, flames already simmering beneath lace. A hand caresses her stomach. It splays out and reminds her of all the ways he'd possessed her the night before. An anxious tremble builds inside, for that was in the pit of the night behind the breath of intoxication. This is all light, revitalized with sharp consciousness, without the use of a proverbial mask in which to hide.

The other arm wedges between mattress and body, scooping around to cup her breast. Hands knead skin. Want spelled out in their writhe against each other. Lips hit keys on her neck that clench a pleasured tune in her sexual base. She whimpers from longing. His lips slow against her. "When did you lose your top?"

Somewhere beyond her reminder of need, the night's details start to shift back into place. Her eyes grow wide. _The delivery._ She forces the delectable daze to part so she can think. The sun's higher than she anticipated waking up to. Brighter. She flings toward her phone on the nightstand, being too tangled by his arms to make it.

"What are you-"

"Let go for a second?" He detangles and she reaches again. She stares at the screen. 7:45 am. _Shit._ "I gotta go." She gets up from the mattress, rushing over to the dresser to find quick clothes.

"Donna, what's going on?" He props against the headboard, almost sitting with a sizable issue in his lap.

"I…" She thinks, not yet ready to give up the mystery. "...have something to do. I'm running behind."

His arms spread out. "What the hell could you have to do? We're over halfway across the country for godsakes."

"It's-" her eyes dart to his erection "-a surprise."

The corner of his mouth quirks. "We were sort of about to take care of a surprise already."

"I know," she says with sympathy, really wanting to explore what's under that sheet. Which is _fully_ ready for her, apparently. _Fuck._ "I'll be back in a few minutes."

She pulls out a T-shirt and jeans and glances back to him. He's staring ahead, posture slanted, mouth pulled in and corners pointing down. "Are you upset?"

"I just... envisioned this morning differently."

The furrow in his brow makes her heart lunge. He's almost pathetically boyish with his droopy shoulders and sleep-mussed hair. Having him start off their first day as... _whatever they are_ , with disappointment is the last thing she'd wanted.

An idea develops, but she'll practically have to run downstairs afterward. She discreetly plucks up a bottle from the dresser and saunters over to him. Body bending, her mouth takes his. Delving into her new claim. Sensually. A siren to his call. Fingernails scratch at unshaven skin, smoothed over by brushes of fingertips. He sucks in a breath, hand tracing up the length of her spine, ending by tangling in her hair.

He loses himself in the depths of her mouth; she's lost in needing to explore all the ways they could fit. He pulls her into his lap and she squeals at the surprise contact. Her thoughts fade into pure greed, flying high on her newfound freedom to allow pulsing desire for him.

Fingers find his bulge and he groans. A thrumming clock ticks in her chest as she aims attention to making the most of her time. She tries to hold back, tries to find to a way to come back down to herself, focusing on his coming instead.

He pulls back. A breath panting out, dark eyes burning over her. "What're you-"

"Take off the boxers."

"Oh… Okay…" He draws out, eyes wide and voice laced with uncertainty.

A beat passes before he helps her off his lap. Then he lifts hips and complies in a speedy motion, resting back against the headboard. His cock is glorious in displayed daylight, and she feels a brain battle between complete abandon and practical reasoning. She straddles his leg, her clothed center wanting friction while trying to resist the craving to get too caught up. He jerks her forward on his thigh, giving her a delectable grind. Lips find neck, causing her to gasp.

She barely manages to grip the bottle she'd discarded, squirting lotion in her palm.

"Kiss me again," she requests.

His eyes narrow. Hands steady each cheek, pulling her to his mouth. His tempo is exploratory rather than rushed, so she traps a top lip between teeth to heat things up. He sucks hard at her bottom lip, causing a whimper. _He's getting there._

She grips him, wrapping him into firm command. His cock is glory created just for the sake of wanting her. This is her in power and on task all at once. She swirls cream from head, around his length, finally to base. He moans into her mouth, slowing.

His lips part hers. "What about you?"

"No need." She's focused on the task at hand. Determined. Driven. Sticking to deadlines.

He cradles the back of her head, tongue making love to her mouth. The opposite arm wedges under her working side, forcing her breasts to compress against bare chest and her hand to let go of his length.

She reaches underneath, but his hand blocks her path.

He parts, hot breath hitting lips. "Donna, just…"

She presses into his mouth, his reciprocation reluctant. Uncertainty climbs her over what's transpiring and how she gets through it with her blurring schedule hanging over the bed.

Confusion jolts without a chance to react. She's flipped to her back, him landing between her legs.

His name spoken into his mouth is the protest. He grins in response.

Hand skims panties, finding the leg band and resting there. His arousal puts pressure just beside it in suggestion.

He pulls back, biting a lip. "Do you want me to stop? Because if the answer is no, you need to call the front desk and tell them to charge my card whatever's necessary for them to take care of this for you, and then you can pick it up when we're done."

The thump in her chest is turned all the way up and fights against the volume of sensibilities. _Her answer is just because of her plans, right?_ If her arrangements could be handled by a single phone call… They can't though. And there's no way they're getting out of that hotel room if he ends up inside her.

Her lips press together, and she shakes her head - fingers smoothing his hair to try and soften the rejection. "I don't, _but_ …"

Right after the last word, he untangles himself from her and the bed, pushing up and away.

Harvey..." She starts to follow, but the heavy indent in his brow stops her.

"I'm sorry, Donna, I don't want this."

She feels her chest clench. Her bottom lip trembles, heat rising up the back of her neck. "Us?"

"That's not what I said. But I'm starting to question what it is you want."

A mass has grown in her chest, making breaths ache. "I just thought..." That she'd try to please him. Try to make him feel satisfied and not rejected with her unsteady follow through and clarity.

"Are all these things, the handjob, the blowjob, and the rest just a stall until you can figure out if you want me? Because if that's the case, I'd rather go without."

The words startle like a file slapped angrily on his desk. He's got her head twisted around. She's failing an emotional performance review while assigned a foreign position. He's not giving her ways to improve except to meet him on the side of success. "I could just cancel the surprise."

He's struggling to look at her, his eyes shrouded under a tight brow. "You obviously put trouble into this. Go."

She's second-guessing everything. What she's doing, what she's planned, if she's messing this entire thing up. If he's disappointed in doing this with her. She avoids his eyes. "Can you get ready while I'm gone?"

"Tell me what to wear."

She doesn't dare try to read his face. They're in an alternate universe and she's not sure she's ready to see the new view. Clothing selection luckily is an effortless task. "Something casual, but short sleeved."

"Sure."

 _How could she manage a relationship with him when she couldn't even read his sexual tones?_

She throws on clothes.

He couldn't even manage himself through more than brief ones. Her track record isn't much better. No more than a few extra promises and weeks, with less empty beds randomly filled in between.

The door slams behind her.

She'd thought their comfort level would be the main obstacle. Too many crossed lines. Too much familiarity. She's chancing everything they have on what started as a late night whim he can't explain. They'd escaped over a decade of limbo intertwined into carnality and trust in under a week. When she's the one woman he's been able to sexually ignore for years.

She's enough on her own. If they ended up severed, they'd be two broken pieces. They'd have to forge themselves to fit into a world that always seemed to work best side-by-side. Even broken up she could sandpaper the edges to brush herself off. It doesn't change what she wants. _To be enough for him._

* * *

He showers and throws on a charcoal T-shirt and dark slacks, using just a bit of molding paste to tame his hair into a planned muss. He doesn't bother with shaving as he sometimes neglects on weekends. The mildly roguish look in the mirror looks better than the tempered irritation turning donuts in his gut, leaving behind pollution and circular skid marks all over his insides. His reflection creates something more artful, the type usually ending with paletted lips and endless legs as he tips back Macallan's and they're drawn in from indifference.

Donna isn't so easily gained or enamored. The decisions aren't to endear her as much as a habit or gloomy laziness, but the previous success still fractions a sliver of optimism they could ride out charm and instincts to be enough for each other.

She returns close to an hour later with a knock at the door. If he'd been a more thoughtful person he'd have given her a keycard before she'd shakily walked away. If he'd put more thought into it he wouldn't have let her walk away upset in the first place.

He opens the door for the second time in two days, only this time instead of lips of persuasion he's met with a 20-something bellhop, a filled up luggage cart, and a quiet and unsure Donna. He slips the kid a couple of bills. Then decides he never wants to see her that way ever again.

They stand just inside the entryway, staring in silence as the door shuts. Alone again. She's slightly behind the cart, the brassy vehicle a symbolic barrier.

His hands are tightly in pockets, the stance more strained than in his suit pants. With pressure on his knuckles, the stiff fabric is like a reminder that he's close to screwing up the one thing that actually matters to him.

He forces himself to shift, examining the items on the cart. Camping chairs, a picnic basket, a small soft-sided ice chest, an umbrella, and a backpack. "Are we going on a picnic?"

She steps forward, holding an envelope. "Did you know there's a big jazz festival this weekend?"

"Yeah, the City of Lights. It's sold out and I didn't think I'd have time."

She places the envelope in his hand. "I managed tickets."

His eyes lock on hers before he takes it, slipping them from the sleeve. A sear forms in his chest. He allows himself to feel the burn. He's a jackass.

"They don't have assigned seats or food. You bring your own, which is why I bought all this stuff."

He slides them into the envelope, handing them her way. A frown forms. He scratches his brow at their predicament.

"We don't have to go," she offers in feigned indifference, but he sees the glassy appearance of her eyes.

"No." He takes a step closer to her.

"I've already arranged to donate this stuff to a homeless coordinator when we're done. I can return the rental car."

He pulls at her elbows, drawing them together. The searing spreads, filtered out from a blaze to warmth filling his chest. His head slants to meet her lips, brushing and stealing them to pull with his. Her chest rises and falls, and a tenseness forms in his temple. He'd hurt her.

His thumb smooths outlines in her forehead and brow, each one carving guilt in his gut. "We're going. I can't believe you put all this trouble into this."

The corner of her mouth bends. She shrugs.

"About this morning. I'm sorry." He runs hands down her arms, grabbing her hands.

She pulls from him. "We'll talk about it. But I need to get ready." She begins to head for the room, but spins around last minute. "I'm sorry, too." Her chest drops and her eyelids flutter.

His head dips, a slight shake in motion. " _No._ I just want _you,_ Donna, not to get off from you." He makes an effort to catch her eyes. "Are we okay?"

"We're okay." But she doesn't sound it.

* * *

Despite arriving an hour early, the event is already bustling with people carrying exorbitant amounts of gear. Harvey appreciates his normal symbolic weight of the world better than the actual weight of a sporting good store's most sold items slung over his own shoulders, but it's better than chancing physical strains to her, mirroring the emotional ones.

Her beauty is asphyxiation and he's slipping the noose with each glance. With the dropped neckline in her spaghetti strapped bohemian blouse paired with fitted jeans, she's exquisite.

Her face seems mostly make-up free. She's glowing. Freckles unhidden. He'd swear she'd been thoroughly pleased all morning if not for his private knowledge. The only clue they hadn't is the reserved set of her lips.

She's an impossible distraction even if his head wasn't already hooked.

They've hardly spoken since they left the hotel. He finds her hand a few times and also her lips, but she seems focused on the day, and he's obliging in hopes it sets them straight. Their chairs are set up, and she's pulling out iced tea and deli sandwiches and laying them on plates.

" _If it isn't Harvey Specter, all grown up."_

Harvey turns his head to the deep gritted voice to his left. The face is instantly recognizable. Dark skin bear of a man with owl-eyes, and a graying wizard beard coming off aging skin. He stands and extends his hand. "Ronnie Adams."

"What's it been, twenty years?" the older man asks.

"At least."

"And here you are on the opposite side of our tour world, and you're still supporting great jazz. Your dad would be proud."

Harvey looks to Donna, still sitting, and motions for her to join his side. She does, and he links their fingers, giving them a squeeze. "I have her to thank for that. I was here on business and she surprised me with this."

"Don't I know it."

Harvey draws his browline.

"Our manager clued me in she was bringing you, thanks to her reaching out. I was dying to see Gordon Specter's oldest boy all grown up."

Harvey darts his eyes to hers, a smirk forming. "Somehow I'm not surprised." He suddenly remembers civilities. "Oh, forgive me. This..." He stumbles. "...is my girlfriend, Donna Paulsen. Donna, this is Ronnie Adams, killer saxophone player. I guess you already did your homework and know he gigged with my dad."

"I did. A pleasure to meet you, Ronnie." She shakes his hand.

Harvey doesn't miss the man's peeling eyes over her.

"You sure are doing well for yourself. I bet your dad would've liked this one."

"Actually..." Harvey meets her eyes, lingering. "He loved her."

Her lips part and she looks away, him doing his best to recover from how the moment seems to trace unanswered memories. He forces an even smile to Ronnie.

"You mean you've had this incredible woman by your side all these years and she's still a girlfriend? Your dad would've kicked your ass." Ronnie slaps his shoulder hard and narrows faux admonishment.

"I was just waiting to be lucky enough for her to want me." He feels unintended agitation climb from his words, punctuated by Donna's hand slipping from his. She grabs her tea in feigned reasoning.

Ronnie seems to sense a change, his attention shifting between them. "Well then, you two enjoy the show. When I'm next in New York you can treat your lady and I to drinks."

"Definitely," Harvey offers, dreading the tension that's stacked in the middle of the crowded grass. Either needing to be disentangled or carried away with them at the end of the show.

"It was great meeting you," Donna offers.

Ronnie pulls her hand in between both of his. "You too, Honey. You keep this one in line. Awesome seeing you again, Harvey."

"You too. Looking forward to your music," Harvey offers.

Ronnie wraps an arm behind him, giving a pat, and then he's back somewhere behind the stage.

Harvey remains planted, waiting unsuccessfully for her to respond. The pounding of yet another potential emotional failure sits somewhere in the back of his skull. He falls into the chair next to her, waiting out the silence. Every second of today has gone worse than he could've imagined considering their night before. So much for charm and skill keeping him on balance.

She hands him a sandwich and he begins to eat. They both skipped breakfast so he's hungry, but also thankful for the distraction. Eating creates a busied silence.

"So girlfriend, huh?" she manages before one of her last bites.

"Did you want me to answer differently?" he challenges, putting his plate into the basket.

"Are you sure you want me to be?"

His eyes widen. "The fact that you're even asking that, tells me I need your answer first."

She shakes her head, and cleans up their lunch mess. She evens a look at him. "Then I need to know something, Harvey."

He sighs. An edge hitting his nerves.

"What triggered all of this?"

The question jolts him. Five words plucking him up only to toss him fully back into all his past fears. His focus is drawn to his breath, and how challenging it is to force them out. He can't look away or divert because the outcome of this has suddenly become everything. He hopes somewhere between them lies the unexplainable answer.

There's too much noise, too many people, and too many reasons swarming his head to give an attempted explanation. He uses a brief view of her to settle his breath. "Can we just, go for a walk maybe?"

She answers with a nod, grabbing her purse and asking their neighbors to watch the rest.

To him, none of it matters. The only thing that matters is settling whatever's been building between them.

They head toward some outlying trees, where people are thinned and noise is filtered, as is the sun. He leans against a large tree-trunk, waiting for her.

Her lips move before she speaks, like she's formulating the right question. "The other day in my apartment, you said you'd been realizing things. I need to know what they were."

She wants this all open. Only his cards turned over on the table. Like Mike had suggested. Go all-in without the odds of a hand. But she's not Rachel. Without strategies and maneuvers, he's already lost. He can't fix this with a last minute turn card with a heart and a promise. Whatever he plays, whatever bluffs he uses, she knows all the outcomes. She still wants him to keep tossing more into their pot overfilled with wrong calls. In the end, maybe she's not looking for a reason. She's looking for him to throw in his cards. To prove he wasn't good enough for her game.

He's fighting the urge to fold since he's already raised their bet. "There's not a single reason."

Her head turns away. "So you can't even give me one?"

He pushes off the tree. "Doesn't the now matter? I'm turned inside out to be what you need."

"Well, I've spent a career doing it." The words hit from under her breath.

His jaw clenches. "Do you wish you hadn't?"

"That's complicated."

"It goddamn isn't."

Her arms cross. "Did you want me all those years?"

He feels his jaw flex. The explanation is locked behind old gates constructed long ago in preservation. He's trying to break the lock. It's stuck. Steel and rust, hand in hand like defense and fear.

Her brow raises. "See, examining years of your life isn't so easy. I wasn't the sole cause for nothing happening between us, like you insinuated with Ronnie. You were too."

"That was casual conversation and you know it."

"Stop deflecting, Harvey. It's transparent."

He takes a step toward her. "I'm not the one deflecting here."

She tenses. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying. I love jazz, but if it meant being in bed with you?" He shakes his head. "You're the one that planned this all day event, Donna. And look, I love it. But you practically jumped at the chance to get away from me."

"Do you not get I'd already made arrangements?" Her hands flap at her sides. "Me not showing up meant today didn't happen."

"And what if it didn't?" His eyes lock on her. Pressuring; reading.

She falters; lips falling open.

"You're not my secretary here. You don't need to prepare for everything, or manage a schedule. I want you to let go, and be here with me."

"Do you think this is easy for me?"

His lips press together, expression even. "I think you're hiding behind plans to keep from us."

She leans back, eyes wide. Then something seems to kick in place and she steps toward him, motioning wildly. "Fuck you, Harvey. If it's so important to get it in, we're in Vegas. There's plenty of avenues here for you."

The plunger is pushed, injection of impatience into all his veins at once. "What do you want from me, Donna?"

Her head swings, arms flailing out. "I want you to answer my question. Why now?"

His face hardens, held together by days of tempering emotions. "Fine. Everything we've been through? From losing my dad, to Mike, to years side-by-side. My getting through all of it? Leads to you."

The words seem to hit her in the chest, like catching a surprise flying pitch. She blinks, focus shifting and mouth falling open.

"Is that the answer you wanted?"

"I don't know," she answers quietly. Her posture is slack, and she's not looking at him like he's somehow too painful to see.

His chest falls like it's dropped from an internal cliff. Attempted honesty isn't enough. He's not an unlocked safe. She didn't get to open him up and take what she needed and leave him empty. He's been freely handing her valuable pieces. His most hidden reserve. But his attempts aren't enough. "If you want to walk away from this, just say it, Donna."

"I never said that."

There's no conviction in her answer. Peak frustration hits. A tornado finally had enough collided forces to form, and he's striking down. "No. You just keep thinking up new ways to screw me without the emotional investment of actually fucking me."

Her lower lip quivers the slightest, and she struggles with a staggered breath. Despite the tremble, her eyes are fierce. "You know what I want? For you to notice me in this equation. You're talking about you. How I've helped you. How what we're doing isn't enough. What about my needs?"

She's looking up at him, chest and shoulders rising and falling like he's Goliath to her David. Only he feels himself shrinking because he knows she's emptied out his defense.

"Are you there for those?" she challenges. "I can't just let go of who we are. It doesn't work like that."

He throws his arms up. "I'm trying! I can't fix things overnight any more than you can. And you're making it impossible. You never let me in!" He's in front of her now, hands shaking, accusation pulsing.

She shakes her head, brow creased. "What are you talking about?"

"Lots of things. Like you breaking up with someone and going to _Louis_?"

"How was I supposed to know you'd do a one-eighty on me and suddenly care?"

He evens a steel look her way. "I've always cared."

"And I've always wanted you." Her admission seems to shock her as much as it does him, her breath pulling in and out of her open lips.

The master of ceremonies begins the event introduction.

"Maybe we should just go," she says, avoiding his eyes.

"I don't want to."

"Harv-"

"Look, I know this day is shit so far…"

She confirms with a raise of her brow.

"And I know what we've said means maybe this isn't going to work." The tree may as well be on his chest for how heavy this feels.

Her eyes close the briefest second.

"But you asked if I wanted you all those years?"

She answers with a small nod, face blank.

"I did. Every day." He meets her, a hand resting on her waist and the other her shoulder. He lets her hair run between his fingers. Hoping the rest of her isn't slipping just a fast.

Suddenly her tears are forming, and the first one that slips free feels like acid in his gut. His thumb reaches up and catches it, smoothing over pale skin that forms all the color inside of him. She leans her head into the safeguard of his palm. Every inch of him aches. She's the only path to consume the pain.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to hers, stealing a moment he doesn't deserve. If words couldn't be enough, maybe he could will everything inside himself to somehow absorb this in gestures and need.

Her head shifts, and he's sure it's the first second of losing her. His eyes are closed, holding on tight to the denial, when he feels a lightness brush the corner of his lip. He sucks in a breath as if in pain as she lingers there.

Tempting fate. Testing his resolve.

Resolve fails. His mouth parts, tasting her bottom lip. She's still, as if she's frozen, so he dares it again hoping she'll thaw. Each inch of her mouth, careful but sure, a need and desperation for her to need him too. When fists grip his shirt, he accepts the sign with overflowing reciprocation. His kiss devours her. She's the case of his life, the only bet that he can't survive losing. His arms wrap around her. He needs her to know what his words can't seem to say. His tongue frantically searches hers for the answers between them. She's responding, mouth in aching movements. Pressing into him as if she's frantic to afford him all her faith.

He feels himself fall backward when she presses palms to his chest. Not from force, but for the hollowness he knows the motion means.

Oxygen fails his breaths, like being stuck in an aware panic.

She reaches for him, but he feels himself fall back. She ignores him and steps again, grabbing his hands. "I don't want to walk away. I want to stay."

* * *

 _A/N's: First off, thank you SO much to everyone who reads, reviews, sends me comments and supports me on Twitter. I can't say enough how much I appreciate the support. I wouldn't be writing if I didn't know people enjoyed it._

 _I can say without a doubt this is the hardest chapter I've ever written, of anything. I agonized, and struggled, and couldn't feel like I got it right. I hope in the end you enjoyed it, and the emotions worked. I'm a few chapters from the end if I'm calculating right, so things are soon coming to the climax(be quiet BewG)._

 _I also want to thank my amazing writing partner **Bew0G** , who probably wanted to throw my fic with me attached off a cliff multiple times. But still helped me with shaping and cutting this over and over until I could actually make sense of it, and is there for me in more ways than I can say. And to **mieh** , who also held my hand through this chapter(and does through life) and helped me figure out where some of my frustration was coming from. And to **Kate McK** , who always does me the favor of finding my typos after I post and graciously sends them to me. Read their fics; they're all amazing!_


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